


And he never once made you explain the war

by nharidy



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Forced (without knowledge of the subject) abortion, Happy ending is questionable just so nobodys holds it against me, M/M, Mentions of child negligence and abuse, Mentions of sexual harrasment, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, but be warned that you might not see it as such, but not really, i think it's happy, mentions of domestic abuse and cheating., one just doesn't know that he's pining, show-typical violence and language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nharidy/pseuds/nharidy
Summary: There's no way Andrés wouldn't turn away from Martín in disgust now; wouldn't see how sickening he truly is and wouldn't be revolted.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Professor | Sergio Marquina, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Original Female Character(s), Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Palermo | Martin Berrote & Original Male Character(s), Palermo | Martín Berrote & Professor | Sergio Marquina, Palermo | Martín Berrote/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 199
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not exactly sure what that is, but I was thinking about Martín's background and this came up. Thanks to @DorMarunt for enlightening conversations that were eye-opening to some things. 
> 
> Also my constant state now is delirious from the heat so I'm not responsible for anything that I make or do.
> 
> I hope you like it. Let me know what you think!

Martín shifted his gaze from the waiters to the different couples occupying the network of tables around them, a snicker almost escaping his throat. He’s sure that if he were to walk to any of them now, and cut them up in half, nothing would come out. He wonders if they realize that none of them are real; nothing, but perfect porcelain dolls laid there. He has passed as one of them for many, many times before, sure, and not just them, but the dancing waiters, the attentive bartenders, and the skillful cooks too. And they are all the exact same; _empty_.

Only one person, besides him, in the entire restaurant is-

“You haven’t told me anything about your family, yet,” he turned to Andrés, whose eyes were fixated on him. “None of them turned up at your graduation this morning.”

“Not much to tell, really. Same old, same old,” he swallowed.

“I would still like to hear it.”

He’s still not used to the intensity of Andrés’ gaze on him. He can’t decipher it. Martín usually controls the way people look at him; whether with admiration, disgust, fear, or lust. He knows how to provoke each one and every time he walks out in public he knows exactly which looks he’ll get and he’s rarely proven wrong.

Andrés, though. He looked at him in a way; with such intensity, that Martín imagines is the same gaze that God used to create. No, he thought, if there’s a God, it wasn’t hands he used to create with, but eyes.

“Well, my father was a military man and my mother a housewife. Ahm, I don’t have any siblings.” He tried to keep it simple; straight to the facts, but Andrés was still looking at him expectantly. He wouldn’t do with that answer.

Maybe it was Martín’s sleep-deprived mind or the alcohol he has been consuming all day that weakened the filter he usually puts up, but he found himself giving in to Andrés. A terrible decision, really, he could make up a story; keep it simple and escape the details, but Andrés will see through him sooner or later. Let him know now.

“He’s in jail now.”

Andrés raised an eyebrow and Martín leaned in. Memories flooded his mind. Even though he was talking about his father, it was images of his mother that blocked his view.

He remembered his mother’s collapse after the prosecution; her fall into alcoholism; her clumsy haziness as she roamed the house restlessly for months. He remembered the way she _looked_ at him then, for the first time. The only moments of fleeting clarity he saw in her eyes. They didn’t last, she would stare at him for seconds, then shake her head lightly and the fuzziness would return to her eyes. In those moments, she looked at him as if he has never existed before and grew out of thin air. In a way, he hasn’t. 

“He was a part of the Junta, as you’ve probably guessed. You can guess the things he was involved in as well,” he said, “When the trials began, we ran away. He was an extremely intelligent man, he knew how to cover his tracks; to hide in plain sight,” Martín was about nine when they moved out of Buenos Aires to a rural area. He was taken out of school and home-schooled (not that they ever helped him with anything, he did everything on his own).

“How did they find him then?” Andrés interrogated. Here it is.

Martín knew Andrés, despite the short period they knew each other for. Andrés was capable of terrible things; he knew of some of the things that he has done and will likely keep doing. But he also knew Andrés’ loyalty to his family; he heard the fondness in his voice when he spoke of his younger brother, the quiet sadness when he mentioned his mother. Even when he told him of his own father, his voice was only just empty with the slightest hint of anger. He knew that if there was something sacred to Andrés, besides art, it was his family. So there’s no way Andrés wouldn’t turn away from Martín in disgust now; wouldn’t see how sickening he truly is and wouldn’t be revolted. 

But there was nothing Martín could do about that, so he just grinned widely at him, making him look a little insane, he’s sure.

“When I got old enough, I collected all the information I could, to understand everything, and when it was time,”he paused “I led them to him, I left all the crumps they needed,” he intoned; carefully.

The truth is, Martín doesn’t regret it. He could lie to himself and say he did it for his mother; to protect her from his occasional abuse; his cheating; to protect her from what she couldn’t do herself, broken by her own love for him. It was only slightly true, but he also did it for revenge; not just against his father, no, he could admit that to himself now, but against _her_ as well. She couldn’t see beyond his father when he was there, nothing filled her vision but him. No one else could share it; share her, not even her own son. For Martín, she held nothing; neither love nor hate. She never touched him, either in motherly gestures or anger. A weak woman who couldn’t see past her single obsession. Martín was simply wronged.

He doesn’t regret it, but he wishes he hadn’t done it, looking at Andrés now, knowing that this is most likely the last dinner they would have together; knowing that he would lose him now once he realizes what Martín is. 

He doesn’t regret it, but he wishes he could go back in time and not do anything; just exist until he finds Andrés; until Andrés makes of him what he wishes; what he could accept and love.

Andrés threw his head back, laughing. “You must have not liked him very much, hm?” he chuckled softly, “They never knew that it was you?” 

“No, they probably still think that they found him themselves, but who knows!” Martín still has occasional nightmares of his father, getting out and finding him; then making him disappear off the face of the earth.

“And your mother?” 

“I don’t think she knows, although, I’m sure she has some suspicions,” He kept his tone carefully neutral. 

He still remembers the last few months he stayed with her; her seconds of lingering gaze turning into constant watching. How he couldn’t sleep at night, feverish with paranoia as he heard her restless footsteps around the house, sure that she could see him through the walls.

“incredible,” Andrés breathed, then to Martín’s disbelief, he smiled widely at him, _fondly,_ with a glint of _pride_ in his eyes. 

Martín just laughed, incredulous. Neither of them broke eye contact, Martín’s laugh fading as he just stared at Andrés’ face glowing under the soft light. The music playing growing more distant.

Just as the moment was growing like a thick bubble around them, a phone ringing broke the tension. Martín’s phone vibrating on the table in front of them. It was his boyfriend -if he could even call him that anymore. The minute Andrés showed up in his life, he has been seeing him less and less and usually only for sex.

Just as Martín was going to cancel or put it on silent, Andrés took hold of the phone and put it in the ice bucket that contained the bottle of champagne he had just ordered to celebrate Martín’s graduation.

Martín raised an eyebrow.

“I forgot to mention, you’re breaking up with him, and also need to pack your bags, as we’re leaving for Spain soon.” He stated.

“What makes you so sure I’m ready to leave? I have a life here, you know,” he teased; Martín didn’t need any persuasion. He still didn’t understand that Andrés wasn’t running away from him; nauseous. That he wanted Martín to go away with him now is completely beyond his understanding. Still, he wanted to hear it from Andrés.

“Oh, Martín, who are you trying to fool? What you have here isn’t even 50 percent of a life, no, not even close; only 1 percent. 1 percent of a boyfriend, of an estranged parent lying somewhere, of pity pick-pocketing here and there. You’d be losing 1 percent of a life, of a home, yes, but what’s 1 percent against 99 percent, hm?”

Martín stared at him; silent. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree. It’s the simplicity in the way Andrés uncovered his entire life bare; how he saw it for it was so easily, despite Martín’s best efforts over the last few years to curate it to appear as something other than the scattered, meaningless bits and pieces that it is.

“No,” he went on, “we both know that this life is no fit for you. You would devour the world whole if you could.”

Andrés usually held himself in a way that made him appear older than he really was. The way a young king who inherited a kingdom far earlier than he should would. But at this moment, he looked both younger and older than he was; timeless. It was the feverish glint of excitement in his eyes, devilish, but with sweet innocence and that smile that softened his entire face.

Later on, Martín would realize that this was the exact moment he fell for Andrés. He knows he has been falling for him over the past few months, but it was this specific day, this specific dinner, this specific moment, that that love has reached the last fiber of his being. 

“I assume you already have the tickets.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, apparently, is turning into something.

Andrés found Martín still awake when he woke up. He should tell him to go to bed; it’s not healthy how distorted his sleeping is, but he likes how he looks right now. He should paint him like that, amidst the bluish smoke from his cigarette; colored to the navy curtain by the thin ray of sunshine coming from the gap. His hair overgrown and golden. The colors of his eyes accentuated by the redness around them. Brows strung together in focus. _Beautiful_. 

Not even the deep, still fresh cut on his nose ruins the image. He got himself in an idiotic bar brawl the night Andrés got engaged and was celebrating with Julia. Andrés came back the next morning to Martín’s bruised face. The bruises are barely visible now, but the nose scar is still visible, highlighted more by his paleness. It gives his face a more interesting look, even so, he would rather it goes away; it bothers him.

“Martín.”

He hummed in response, his eyes glued to his work.

“You’re burning the curtain.”

“What? Jesus fucking christ. Shit”

Andrés just laughed and went to make him tea. When he came back, Martín had already put it off and gone back to the calculations of a “hypothetical” heist they have been discussing with Sergio. They won’t do anything for a while, but if Martín gets fixated on any intellectual problem, he can’t let it go unless it’s solved.

Ever since he brought him back with him from Argentina, he has been relying on Martín almost entirely for the technical aspects of his- no, now their work. It has been over two years now, and he still sometimes finds himself marvelling at Martín’s absolute brilliance. He’s plenty brilliant himself, as well as Sergio, but Martín. Martín’s blindness-invoking brightness is something else. There’s nothing he can’t find his way around. Nothing he can’t get himself out of; making him, as Sergio makes sure to remind him at the slightest mention of Martín, completely unpredictable; uncontrollable even, because he has no patterns; his mind will recreate itself to any new situation. Andrés, though, has found ways to control; limit Martín, his intelligence isn’t predictable, but his rage; passion; sentimentality could be, -this is something completely outside of Sergio’s domain. He knows when to stop him; tame his fire; to not let it consume him; giving it its right outlets when need be. However, he finds himself having the urge to unleash it sometimes; encourage it even, to let him burn the world down. If only to see the reflection of the golden red flames in the blue of his eyes.

Andrés put the cup of tea amidst the chaos that is Martín’s desk, hovering above him to look at the calculations; handwriting messier than usual. 

“Stop stealing my shampoo,” he says, walking to the couch on the opposite side.

“No.”

“I’ll lock my bathroom.”

“Fine. You’ll be the one who has to deal with the smell,” he said before going under the table to look for one of the lost papers, probably.

Truth is, Andrés likes it when Martín uses his shampoo or cologne. He generally has a more meticulous taste than Martín, who would just grab the first 6x1 product that he finds. Andrés’ careful choices suit him more; are more of his merit. Besides, he finds it pleasant to smell himself on Martín; it arouses something in him; he’s not sure what.

“Make sure to get a little sleep before Sergio gets here. I don’t want you falling asleep at dinner, Martín. It’s important.”

Tonight he’s introducing his Julia to Sergio. He made a reservation for the four of them at a perfect restaurant. 

“I won’t. I just need to go over these again. Don’t need a kid to question them, ha,” he smirks.

“He’s three years younger than you.”

“Yes, so a child,” he got up and walked to his room suddenly, coming back in his leather jacket. “Anyway, I need to run some errands first. I won’t be late.” He shoved down half of the cup before he walked to the front door. 

——————

“You met her two months ago, Andrés,” Sergio repeats for the 4th time since he arrived an hour ago. Martín isn’t here yet to defend his most sensible choice to his brother, so he has to deal with it himself. Unfair.

“And I already know everything there is to know. I’m telling you, Sergio. She’s the one. She’s absolutely perfect, a walking goddess. Just wait until you meet her. You’ll fall in love too, trust me.”

“Is this a déjà vu or are you literally repeating the same speech you used the last two times?”

Before Andrés got to explain how this time it’s completely different, he hears loud gears coming right outside of the house. He walks out of the front door. Sergio in his wake.

Martín is standing there with two Kawasakis. A man, the one who must have ridden the second one there, walking away.

“Errands, ha?” he teased, walking towards him.

“Look at them, Andrés. They are perfect.” He smiled widely. “Come here, Sergio. This is for you. Come see it.”

“Are you serious?” Sergio traced one with his fingers.

“It’s yours,” Martín said simply.

“Why?” Sergio was staring at Martín as if he had just handed him a bomb. Andrés snorted. 

“Andrés. Your brother doesn’t know what a gift is. What sort of brother are you? What have you been doing to the poor kid,” he went on before Andrés said anything. “Consider it a graduation gift, Sergito,” Martín looked overly pleased with himself. 

“I didn’t graduate from anywhere,” Sergio stated, relaxing a little.

“Well, yeah. But you’re around graduation age. You would be graduating if you’ve gone to college. Anyway, please tell me you can ride it. I’m not going to spend the next few months teaching you.”

“No, no. I can,” he paused, fidgeting with his glasses. He glanced over to Andrés, who smiles at him, then turns to Martín, “It’s great. Thank you”

“Well, now you can also match with your big brother, ha” He grinned at Andrés, as he ruffled Sergio’s hair.

“No,” Andrés said plainly.

“I know, I know- it doesn’t match your aesthetics, you’re not a low thug. I get it,”, he shifts from one foot to the other, “I just wanted you to have it, whatever you want to do with it. It could help with certain jobs, you could leave it to that. It’s your engagement gift, you can’t say no.”

“Yes, Andrés. Learn to have some fun, ” Sergio laughed at his own ironic joke, and Martín joined him.

He won’t take being the butt of the joke, but he’s just grateful -and surprised- that this has put Sergio in a good enough mood for tonight. He’s grateful for Martín, _perfect_ Martín. He’s already brightening everyone’s mood. Everything just goes right under his touch. This marriage will be the one to last; Andrés is sure. 

Sergio turned to Martín, “What about you?”

“I have the leather jacket. That’s enough matching,” he shrugged. “If I need to, I’ll just ride behind Andrés. Or” he dragged as he leaned his whole body on the motorcycle, closing in on Sergio, “I’ll just ride behind you,” he leaned in his face even further, until it’s inches away from Sergio’s, “or maybe in the front, if you like.” 

Sergio’s whole face reddened, and he breaks away awkwardly, trying to stifle his laughter, “You’re disgusting.”

“Noo Sergio, don’t walk away from me. Don’t break my heart,” Martín screamed as he ran after him.

Andrés allowed himself a moment out there in the chill. He’s smiling to himself as their voices fade inside. _Yes,_ he thinks, _this is right. This is perfect_.


	3. Chapter 3

“You should come with us.”

Andrés voice arrived to him muffled, where he’s lying on his stomach on the bathroom floor. He could barely keep his eyes open, but glimpsed Andrés looming over him, leaning on the door frame, hands in his pockets. The sharpness of his black suit contrasting painfully with the overall whiteness of the bathroom. It’s so _white._ He snapped his eyes shut.

“Hm. Sure,” he mumbled, “where?”

He tried to shift to his back, to still the nausea. Which he’s not sure coming from where. He already threw everything up.

“On the honeymoon.” Well, apparently, he didn’t throw up everything. Because for one terrible, _magnificent_ fraction of a second, his brain manipulated the register of the words and he thought _their_ honeymoon. Now, he’s burying his face in the toilet again.

Martín got up to brush his teeth _again._ He was too tired to entertain whatever Andrés is talking about. He leaned on the sink to take some weight off his legs, but even his head was too heavy to carry. So he just dangled it for a minute as he turned it to the side to look at Andrés. Who was watching him, amused, and he tried to smile at him, because Andrés is wonderful and he deserved a smile; he deserves the whole world. But Martín couldn’t even give him that. Andrés was staring at him, and whatever the look on his face was, it must have been pathetic enough because Andrés went and got him a glass of milk.

“You know it’s just a placebo, right?” Andrés snickered as he handed him the milk, which he downed in one go before he slummed against the wall. “It has no scientific basis. It doesn’t do anything with hangovers. I have tried it myself. It has no effect.”

“You’ve been hangover?” Martín chuckled to himself. He tried to imagine Andrés in his place, lying on the bathroom floor, his suit getting wet. The ridiculous image of the semi-wet suit -with Andrés in it- sent him in a fit of laughter so strong that he wanted to throw up again. He tried to stop, but increasingly found it difficult to. There was nothing he could do about it, not even when he saw Andrés’ unamused face, eyes sharpening and lips thinning up. He tried to stop, but he imagined Andrés as a cartoonish character with red ears, and puffs of smoke coming out of them. And he saw his own face transforming to that of a donkey’s while a stick with a bundle attached to it magically showed up in his hand. He sent himself into another fit. His eyes got so blurry from the laughing tears that he didn’t see Andrés walk away. 

It took him about fifteen minutes to get himself together. He undressed and stood still under the cold shower for ten full minutes. It sobered him up enough to actually wash his body. When he got out, he assumed Andrés had already left after he angered him. He tried to catch what was it he did, but it kept escaping him. He fell asleep trying to remember.

When he woke up later, he was naked and half-covered, with Andrés sitting up against the headboard, looking down on him. The first thing he noticed is that he drooled all over his chin and pillow. The second, which probably should have been more pressing, was that he was awfully hard.

For fuck’s sake.

He tried to bury himself further against the mattress and shift his body subtly in an attempt to hide it. 

“Hi,” he said weakly.

“Hey,” Andrés reached to brush back the hair sticking to his forehead and eyes, and kept his fingers in his hair. Martín sighed, immediately leaning into the touch.

“Sorry about earlier, did I throw a bottle at you or something?”

“You’ll get sick like that,” Andrés shifted his body to lie next to him; facing him, then pulled the covers on Martín’s body. “You should ease up on the drinking.”

Martín shrugged, “What was it you were saying? About your honeymoon?”

“That you should come with us.” He rested his palm on Martín’s face as his fingers kept treading through his hair. Martín wanted to turn and kiss it so much that the feeling was rounding up, and trying to crack his rips to get out.

“On your honeymoon? With you and your wife? Why, now Andrés. You’re having doubts about your abilities? Need my help to satisfy your soon-to-be wife?” Martín chuckled.

André smacked his head, then went back to playing with strands of his hair. Tugging a little more harshly now.

“I’m serious. You won’t spend that much time with us. And Julia adores you anyway. She wouldn’t mind.” Martín snickerd, as if Andrés needed his women’s approval to do anything he wanted. Andrés went on, “You’ve been sickly lately. Pale is not your color. A vacation -the sea- would do you some good.”

“I’m not a Victorian woman from one of your novels, Andrés.” Martín laughed wholeheartedly, despite the pain in his chest. He simply wouldn’t be able to take it. No amount of alcohol would numb weeks with them in Greece. It would be too much; too soon. Watching him in all of his glorious, after-marriage glow. Getting out in the morning from their room, smiling; satisfied. Seeing them spend the entire day together, tangled in each other’s arms, half-whispered comments flowing between them, before Andrés pulls her and leads them to their room again. Leaving Martín there like an overgrown toe-skin.

Unprompted, he remembered the brief vacations he took with his parents, not at all like the images he envisioned of Andrés and his bride. But Julia’s face merges into his mother’s and he wants to throw up.

“Besides, I could just stay in Italy after the wedding. Same thing, really. Same sea.” He’s still trying to constantly remind himself, and accept that Andrés doesn’t belong to him, not like this. After the wedding, he’ll have other priorities. He’ll be a married man. Martín and him have been living together out of practicality. Better for work and running together afterwards. It had came to them naturally. They have fallen into it as if they have shared a home their entire lives. But that’s the end of it.

He got so lost in his thoughts; he didn’t notice that he started shivering bad enough that Andrés pulled the cover up to the rest of his upper body. The room was airy, carrying the cold directly into his bones. Either that or the drinking had already fucked up his body.

Martín had once imagined what it would feel like to burn and freeze at the same time; how the body would register it. Andrés touching him like _that;_ rubbing his neck and arm with that look of concern over his face is the closest Martín could imagine to the feeling.

“I’ll get dressed, what time is it?”

“Six.”

“Six what?”

“In the evening, Martín.”

“Weren’t we supposed to meet Julia and her friends for dinner tonight?” 

“We are,” Andrés smiled as he pulled himself to sit against the headboard again. Not a wrinkle on his suit. Marvelous, really.

——————-

“I still don’t get it. How don’t you remember anything! If you’ve remembered the guy at least, Andrés would have taken care of it, right Andrés?” Julia turned to Andrés, who smiled at her then leaned in for a kiss.

“I was too drunk. Besides, I gave as good as I got. I don’t need protection.”

If it weren’t for Andrés, he would have thrown his glass at her face. Who the fuck does she think he is? Some stray cat she adopted with Andrés! What’s next? Buying him school suppli-

“She doesn’t mean it like that. It’s just guys could be horrible when you’re alone and wasted,” the guy Julia brought with her said calmly. She mentioned that he’s one of her closest friends, and _oh, he must simply meet her fiancé and his best man._ But he sees the way the guy looks at him. _Idiot._ If she thinks she’ll get rid of him like that.

But well, the guy’s not bad.

Andrés nodded as he shifted his glance from the guy to Martín, shadows crossing his face. It must have embarrassed him. Martín is his associate; getting himself in such a fight and getting his face fucked like that must have bothered him. 

He remembers the night after, when Andrés came home. How he cleaned it right and dressed it. How he knelt first on one knee and inspected his entire face. And then how he softly kissed the spot of the scar. He remembered how they both erupted into uncontrollable laughter after.

Martín danced with the guy the entire night, after they left the restaurant for a local bar. He’s not bad at all. He’s well built; a huge guy, really. Dark skin with green eyes. He’s funny and a good enough dancer. Also, he looked like he’d prove to be a good enough distraction tonight, especially if Andrés brings the girl back to their home instead of going to her place.

It’s not as if it bothers Andrés at all. He hasn’t left his eyes off Julia, who’s shuttering on and on about her graduation art project. She’s graduating from the Faculty of Art this spring, after which they’ll get married. So of course, she captivates Andrés entirely, it probably helps too how she’s -even to Martín’s untrained eyes- absolutely stunning. A description of her would make her seem too unfeminine -short black hair, dark eyes, small lips, sharp bones, tall and slightly broad-, but there’s a softness that overcomes all her features and curves that nullify the effect. She’s perfect for Andrés. Strong, yet submissive. Smart, yet not overwhelming. Entertaining, yet doesn’t take too much space. Simply, you could ignore her if you wanted, but if you decided to do look at her, she would be a pleasant addition. A perfect look, in a pretty dress, attached to Andrés’ arm.

But Martín doesn’t care, he reminds himself, Andrés could come with seven of her clinging to his arms and it wouldn’t matter. As long as Andrés comes back to him; as long that he understands that it’s only Martín and him; only _them_ who are destined for greatness; glory. That they would achieve it together. It doesn’t matter that Andrés doesn’t love him back in that way. He sees him; understands him, that’s more than enough. He _chose_ him. Martín will take the pain that comes with that with a glass of wine gladly. He’ll be thankful and lick his lips afterwards. As long as Andrés comes back to him at the end. So he dances with Sebastien and tonight he’ll fuck him too.


	4. Chapter 4

“Am I being kidnapped right now?” Martín turned to Andrés, not looking the slightest bothered about it. “You don’t know what you’re getting on your hands.”

“I thought I’d had already done that”

“Yeah,” Martín laughed, “you have.” His eyes were roaming the streets, checking all cornerstones and buildings.

“So what is it? Is this the birthplace of Michelangelo? You’ve found my long-lost relatives?”

“Your ancestors aren’t Italian, Martín,” Andrés laughed.

“How would you know that? More than half of the Argentinean population are descendants of Italians. The odds are on my side,” Martín challenged. “Besides, I look a bit like them too, don’t I?” he raised his eyebrow.

“No.”

“Who do I look like then?”

“You don’t look like anyone.” He stopped walking and looked at him, “Just like you. No one else.” 

He’s right. He envies whatever force of nature; whatever god has created him. He ought to be a sculpture; his shape, face immortalized. Andrés ought to have been the one who made him.

Andrés walked into the building he was looking for, in a cobblestoned side alley; Martín following him. When they reached the top floor, Andrés opened a door and walked in, then stepped to the side. Martín walked further into the apartment. Minutes later, he turned to Andrés with a questioning smile, as he turned his gaze to his hand, the one Andrés was holding out the key with.

“It’s yours. I got it for you,” he smiled.

Martín’s smile was slow to take over his face. Still unsure. Holding out his hand to take the key, but he kept it there, with Andrés holding the other end. He looked at it for a second, before looking up at Andrés, eyes wide. Andrés raised his eyebrow.

“Aren’t I the one supposed to be getting you a wedding gift?”

“You and I are one. It’s the same,” he let go of the key, “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? It’s perfect, Andrés.” He was basically jumping now, taking it all in. No barriers. “I love it.” He turned to Andrés, eyes glistening. “Thank you”

Andrés nodded at him. “You’ll have easy access to the roof from here. Just how you like it.”

“Yeah. Exactly how I like it. It’s perfect,” he laughed, breathless. And Andrés feels both some relief, that he didn’t know from what, and a pull in his chest at the same time. Gifting Martín this was a strange need he had; it felt peculiarly like an apology. He couldn’t interpret what it is that he could possibly be sorry for -He’s rarely felt sorry for anything, really. Everything he has done has been right for him-. Even though, he felt as if he had wronged him somehow.

He couldn’t explain or even name the emotions that overcame him around Martín. Emotions contradictory; not native to his body. That’s the funny thing; he had often thought that emotions have nothing to do with the body. Separate from himself; he could touch them, but only through his glass skin. But when Martín is around him, every feeling is sharp; cracking his skin from the inside out. Excitement, anger, guilt. Love, too.

He knows that this time it’s genuine love with Julia. He knows that what he feels with her is more intense; more real. This time it’s right. And it’s Martín. Vibrant Martín; touching all those around him. Not unlike Cupid, an allegory that Martín wouldn’t appreciate, probably.

“You got me an apartment in Italy, no, in _Sicilia._ In Palermo.” he was smiling widely, then took Andrés face between his hands and smacked him with a kiss on the cheek. Laughing; fervent.

Andrés just laughed and shook his head.

He was running through the apartment now. Checking every corner. Every room.

“Which one do you want?” Martín shouted as he came out.

“Hm?”

“Room. Which room do you want?”

“I’m getting married, Martín. I won’t live here,” he said.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I know,” his smile was wavering; his eyes fleeting. “Nevermind. That’s not what I meant. Anyway, the more for me, right!” his smile was fully back, but his eyes still escaping Andrés’.

It was their last day in Palermo. They were going back to Florence this evening, to start the last preparations for Andrés’ wedding. The wedding was still in a few weeks. He left Julia in Spain nearly a month ago. He didn’t want to stay around bored in Spain waiting for her to graduate. Also, separating from Julia for two months would make their reunion before the wedding all the more romantic. She’ll realize how painful being apart from the love of her life is, and will tear up at the vows as she promises to never go through it again. The night (and the rest of their honeymoon) will be filled with wonderful sex too. Women are insatiable in general. Their sex-drive is a marvel, really. (Not that Andrés can blame them, he wouldn’t get enough of himself in their place either). So Andrés depriving her of him would make her all the more desperate and their honeymoon all the more exciting.

Andrés and Martín were supposed to travel all across Sicily, but it was impossible getting Martín out of Palermo. It’s like getting a cat off the Christmas lights. Every time they were supposed to leave, Martín would find something to pull him back in with; an obscure museum that it’s impressive that Andrés missed, or a hidden small gem of a Cathedral. The bastard knows him well. 

And well, it’s not like Andrés is actually bothered. If he had truly wanted them to leave, they would have. But he likes it here, he likes Martín here. They roam the streets until the morning. Stopping in front of every building; Andrés spinning tales of its beauty and Martín responding by all the mechanisms it was made; how brilliant it was, how marvelous it is that they found this and that way.

The place has an obvious impact on him. He’s happier, _finally._ He fit pretty well too. Italy is the throne of the gods of art, after all. So of course he did.

Even the people he fit well with. Their chatter-chatting confuses his general hostility. They match his loudness and outgoingness. He’s comfortable around them. It could be a piece of home outside of Andrés. Even the language, he’s picking extremely fast. It’s incredible. Martín has been by his side for years now and he still hasn’t picked up Andrés’ Castilian Spanish accent, but they have been in Italy for weeks and Martín is already dancing around pouring whatever he has picked up on that day. With his intonation too, he’ll sound like a native in no time.

So Andrés gave it to him.

—————

“Beautiful. I would fuck him,” Martín said, approvingly.

“Don’t be so vulgar. It’s art.”

They were standing in front of Michelangelo’s David, in Florence. Andrés trying (and falling) to scare away the plebs from toppling on top of each other in front of the piece. God, he hates tourists.

“Besides, _you_ would fuck _him?_ ”, he teased and immediately regretted it. 

It wasn’t even two months ago when he _saw_ him. Neither mentioned it after. It’s a normal thing to happen when you live together, he knows. But it has provoked something in Andrés. 

Andrés had woken up around dawn to get some water, when he passed by Martín’s room. The door slightly ajar; enough for Andrés to see. 

To see Martín held down on the bed, on his stomach, as Sebastian pounded into him. Andrés would have walked away. But he didn’t. Martín was facing the other way, but he rolled his face to lean on the other cheek. Facing the door; facing Andrés. He looked him in the eye, with strange calmness. And then he came. 

Before he opened his eyes, Andrés had already walked away. 

Andrés tried to shake away the image and _the sounds._ He didn’t let the awkwardness get between them, but it had stuck in his mind.

“That’s not how it works,” Martín muttered, right before adding, “And well, what would he do with that little dickie?”

Andrés wondered what he meant. How would it work then? What _it_ even was? He knew how gay sex works, he’s not ignorant. But he had the sense Martín meant particularities that escaped him. He didn’t ask.

He laughed awkwardly. “Yes, yes. I know. They are symbolic. I get it,” he mimicked, gesturing wildly, “But still.” He inspected it, disapprovingly.

Andrés stifled a laugh. He didn’t want to encourage him to go on further.

Both of them had turned to it again. Martín’s expressions slowly lost their humor, staring with something else in his gaze. Andrés couldn’t look away, and when Martín turned slightly to look at him, he didn’t want to hear whatever will come from his mouth.

Then he turned to the statue again. Sombering up as he looked at it. Silent for minutes.

“Out of the statues that you’ve shown me of him so far,” he breathed. “It’s always just him.” Martín didn’t take his eyes off it as he half-whispered, “It’s cruel. To separate him from Johnathan even here.”

Andrés didn’t say anything.


	5. Chapter 5

The only other place Martín could imagine with so many crying children is the maternal wing in a hospital. It would also be the only other place with so many people looking like they are having the most painful, miserable time in their lives. Travelling is usually a pleasant experience for Martín, including the wasted time at the airport. Even those loud uncivilised plebeians he could tune out with Andrés on his side. But now he gets it, he can see his own misery painted on their faces; not that those spoiled brats, who are probably miserable for being forced to remain with their own children who they plagued the world with, would understand an ounce of Martín’s real pain. 

“Martín!” Julia screamed as she ran towards him with two enormous bags in each hand, making her look like a running penguin. She dropped them and threw herself at him when she was close enough.

“Look! Mum, this is the Martín I told you about!” Julia basically pushed an older-looking version of herself onto Martín. Still out of breath. Right behind them is Julia’s friend, Sebastian.

“Nice to meet you, Señora or shall I say, señorita,” Martín gave her his sweetest smile, and raised her hand o his lips.

“You’re every bit the charming man Julia told me about, Mr. Becotti, is it?”

“Berrote. But please, call me Martín. Let me take your bags.” Martín took the old woman’s bags and headed outside to the car he and Andrés have rented in Italy.

“It’s very nice of you to pick us up, Martín. I assume Andrés is very busy preparing for everything.” Martín looked over his shoulder at Julia, gesturing wildly as she rambled to Sebastien, who is walking calmly beside her, dragging his suitcase behind him, glancing at Martín.

Andrés has sent him to fetch his little fiancée and her people. Still keeping up the whole ridiculous, not seeing each other until the wedding thing. Not even Victorians would act this childish. He has already fucked her hundreds of times. There’s probably not an inch of her he hadn’t seen. What is he supposed to be surprised of exactly when he unveils her before the eyes of God and men? 

He can still imagine it, though. Being allowed to have Andrés; to really have him and then being deprived of him for that long. It would kill him, but how sweet the resurrection would be!

“He is. Andrés takes his weddings _very_ seriously,” he smiled at her as he placed the bags in the trunk. “And his marriages, too, of course.” He gave her a short laugh as she got in the passenger seat. Hopefully, it didn’t sound as bitter to her as it did to him.

“You would wonder why his previous marriages failed then.”

“Mum!” Julia interrupted from the backseat.

“I don’t mean to fault him, of course, but three divorces, is it? For someone that young,” she dragged.

“Two actually. As I’m sure you understand, every relationship is unique with its own peculiar issues. But I assure you, it was never a fault of Andrés. He did everything he could to save those marriages.” The words were coming out faster than he intended, the sweet tone of his voice disappearing as suddenly as it came. If she thought he would accept the slander of Andrés, not just in front of him, but to him directly, then Martìn will have to show her what she’s dealing with. 

He tried to calm his breathing.

“Besides,” he smiled at her, “neither of the previous women were anything like our Julia here,” he turned his head to smile at her. “I’m sure she and Andrés would continue making each other as happy as they possibly could.”

“He is a very nice man, Mrs. Gonzalés. And Julia is very happy with him. She’s basically radiating.” Sebastian attempts a laugh, but it comes off awkward.

Julia’s mother didn’t take her eyes off Martín. As if Sebastian hadn’t spoken. “I hope so. Have you known him back then? During his first marriages?”

Martín tightens his grip on the wheel. He wondered how she’d feel if he kills her before she sees her daughter in white.

“Not exactly. But I know Andrés like the back of my hand. He’s a loyal, loving partner. He’s attentive and always present. He’ll know what is bothering her before she even knows she’s bothered by something herself. He’s smart and passionate.” Martín breathes, “He’s perfect. Any woman would be lucky to have him.” Suddenly, it feels like all 3 of them are hawking at him.

 _And he’s wicked,_ he wanted to say, _he’s brilliant. He’s everything that matters, all the good and bad there is. The universe embodied. And your child isn’t worth a single hair off his head._

Julia’s mother stared at him for a tad longer than normal, then gave him a smile, and nodded before looking straight ahead.

“I’m sorry, Martín. My mum just worries too much.”

“Of course, I do. That’s all mothers do; worry about their children.”

“Of course,” Martín nodded. He drived in silence for the rest of the ride.

Martín parked. “Here we are!”

He got out of the car and opened the trunk. He took out all the baggage and settled them on the ground.

Everyone had come out. All three of them just stood there and stared at him.

“I will leave you to rest. If you need anything, just call me.”

“I’ll get someone from the inside to come help with these,” Sebastian turned his gaze from him to the bags before he ran in.

Julia’s mother went inside after saying her goodbyes and Martín attempted getting in the car before Julia stopped him.

“Martín, wait. Let’s go for a drink! Wait for me to change, alright,” Julia laughed, “I’m just too excited. I’m not even tired from the flight!” She was basically jumping as she spook. Where the hell had Andrés found this kid? “If you’re up for it, of course.”

“Sure, Yeah. A drink sounds great. I’ll wait for you inside,” he walked in as all three disappeared upstairs.

Martín didn’t even wait for ten minutes before Julia appeared in jeans and a loose blouse.

He took her to a local small bar. Martín loves bars at this time of the day. It’s mostly dark except for the rays of dim sunlight displaying the dusty, wooden surfaces. The bartender humming softly to the quiet Italian classics playing, as the hushed conversations of the only two couples in the entire bar carried on.

Martín picked a corner and ordered two drinks for them. They spent what felt like hours talking about everything. Her college experience, the wedding, Italy, the wedding, art, the wedding, the life she expects, the wedding, the career she’s striving for and the wedding.

“So is Sebastian your made-of-honour now?”

She laughed softly. “No, no. She’ll be here in two days. She has some family matters to take care of.”

Martín nodded.

Julia sighed and sank in her seat. “I’m sorry about my mum. She can be too much. She didn’t mean to mistrust Andrés or anything, It’s just she worries a lot and she always thinks everyone is terrible and out to get me.”

Martín hummed.

“I can’t really blame her. Raising me by herself has been really stressful, you know.”

Martín doesn’t know what sins he committed in his past lives, so now he would sit here acting the therapist to the love of his life’s fiancée, at 11 in the morning, a week before their wedding. 

But well, Martín thought, we want her happy and catharsised for Andrés to enjoy.

“Yes. It must have been very hard for her, and yet here you are! The greatest of women,” Martín smiled. “She should be very proud! And not at all worried, I’m sure Andrés is nothing like whoever your father might have been,” He squeezed her hand, “Look at you! Sebastian is right. You’re radiating.”

She smiles warmly at him, her eyes tearing up. Ridiculous.

“Speaking of Sebastian, he likes you a lot, you know?”

Martín leaned back in his seat, and stretched his hand to play with his glass on the table.

“Does he now?”

“He does, but it doesn’t matter, no?”

Martín opened his mouth to say something. He’s not sure what. About how Sebastian is great, but they’re looking for different things; how he doesn’t do dating and love; maybe that Sebastian is too young for him, but Julia didn’t let him.

“Look, it’s fine. I get it. I get it.” she reached for his hand and held it with both of hers. “It would be delusional to imagine you staying by his side all this time and not falling for him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Andrés is my best friend, but that’s all-”

She cut him off, shaking her head forcefully.

“You know, I’m incredibly lucky to have found Andrés, I know that, God, I do, he’s wonderful and perfect, but if I haven’t, I would have found someone else and I would have loved them too.”

How dare she assume that whatever she feels for Andrés is anywhere near equivalent to his love for him. How dare she assume that she understands him at all. Martín is fuming, and he’s terrified. His facial expressions must have betrayed him, because she added.

“I won’t come between you. I would never come between you. I don’t have a reason to. Quite the opposite, really. You’re a wonderful addition to our lives. But also,” she breathed, looking away, then looking back at him, “But also because the bond that you two have is something sacred. And I’m not using this word lightly. It would be a great betrayal even attempting to break it.”

Martín didn’t t know what to say, so he just nodded.

Later, they leave. Surprisingly, it didn’t get too awkward, but Martín was still worried. He kept playing the conversation in his head. Maybe he should have downplayed it; said it was just a stupid crush, a physical attraction. Nothing too big. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on in the car like that. He wonders if he said something suspicious in front of Sebastian too.

It was a pretty speech she said, but he doesn’t have any reason to trust her. She could change her mind; decide Martín isn’t a wonderful addition to their lives anymore; spell it in a heated fight. And it would all crumple on his head. How could be so obvious; how could he turn so foolish? He has always been so careful.

He tried to calm himself; Andrés wouldn’t take her seriously, he would ask Martín and Martín would just say _‘You wish’_ he would make a joke about straight people seeing romance everywhere; he would assure Andrés. And if he doesn’t believe him, he’ll swear that he would never make a move on him, that he expects nothing and will never ask; that all he wants is for them is just to remain what they are. And Andrés could be cruel, he would accept it, disregarding what it does to Martín, and Martín would want for him to disregard it, Andrés is not the selfless man and he won’t pretend to be; not to Martín, he’ll allow him to be near, maybe he would bask more in it; would enjoy knowing that he’s worshipped at every step. 

When he gets back, Andrés is having a late breakfast with Sergio. He joined them, slumbering down in the chair.

“What took you so long? Did you take her shopping for a wedding dress?”

He will throw the entire tray in his face. He swears to fucking God, he will.

“We went for a drink.” He reached for Andrés’ coffee.

“A drink, ha? In his hotel room?” Martín was about to ask what he’s talking about, but Andrés interrupted him. What is it with everyone today; why won’t anyone let him fucking speak? “It’s my wedding week, Martín. Can’t you just keep it for one week?” his smile was teasing, but his gaze and tone were anything but.

“And what about it? Just because you’re playing the celibate, doesn’t mean I have to, too.” Martín smiled at him, but Andrés wasn’t amused, still nearly glaring at him. “I went for drinks with your fiancée. Sebastian wasn’t even with us.”

“Ah,” Andrés smiled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “This early? You’re already turning my wife-to-be into a fellow alcoholic, I see.”

Martín turned his attention to Sergio. If he looked at Andrés for a moment longer, he would truly want to drown himself in some barren.

They chattered for a bit, before Martín left for a nap. It was going to be a long week, and he needed all the strength he could get. 

——————

It did turn out to be a hellishly long-week, with Martín running back and forth between Andrés and Julia. Andrés wanting his best man around 24/7 for every detail, and any monologue he wanted to go on. And Julia not knowing a thing in Italy and needing a reassurance for every anxious doubt. Martín is this close from becoming the first best-man who runs away on the bride and the groom.

At least Sebastian is there, he’s a great fuck-buddy; he never says anything about Andrés, even though he knows enough, and he never complains that Martín is obviously using him as a distraction, nor asks for more. Only one time he asked Martín to have dinner with him alone, and after Martín said that he would be too busy with Andrés, he didn’t bring it up again. 

Despite all of that, the preparation for the wedding itself isn’t too complicated. Most of the unnecessary complications come from the absurdity of their act. Andrés has been married twice; he must have wanted to get a little creative as it got repetitive for him. Martín also suspects that it was just a creative way for Andrés not to deal with the bride’s pre-wedding hysteria. 

Andrés told him he doesn’t enjoy bachelor’s parties much, so he didn’t plan anything for him. It’s better this way too. Neither of them have many friends, although Andrés doesn’t like to admit it. They have many acquaintances; connections, but they avoid working with the same people many times, and avoid being associated with them outside of work for security. 

So both of them, and Sergio decided to have a nice dinner then walk around Volterra, where the wedding ceremony will be. Sergio, never as into walking as either Andrés or Martìn, left right after dinner. 

They walked for hours; saw everything the charming town held. Andrés told him all about its history; the beauty and destruction it witnessed, the power and the shame it tasted. And Martín told him of the Etruscans and how their incredible hydraulics system is what gave them so much power, how they built and rebuilt the walls around them. They walked among the ruins and remains of the timeless, medieval town. He listened to Andrés spin tales, and laugh his heart out at Martín’s remarks. He watched him, tranquil and beautiful under the moonlight, hair slightly bothered by the summer breeze. And Martín didn’t allow himself to mourn. 

The wedding is relatively simple. Andrés has managed, God knows how, to rent _il teatro romano di volterra_ ,or rather its remains, for the ceremony. The front rows seat their guests, and the access corridors work as aisles to the alter, which Martín supposes was once the central stage. 

Martín walked in first, followed by Andrés, in an elegant slate-blue suit, then Sergio, who is officiating the marriage. Ridiculous as it is, he wasn’t much older than the bride. They watched as Julia’s mother walked her down the aisle, stern-looking even today; the band playing a simple melodic piece Martín couldn’t remember the name of. He watched Andrés, standing upright as he smiled at Julia, then kissed her mother’s cheek before taking her hand. As Sergio started speaking, Martìn glanced up at the passerby gathered on the road to watch. Andrés not looking the slightest bothered by them, quite the contrary really. It makes Martín nervous, however, as if they are watching him specifically, waiting for him to say the wrong line; to look the wrong way. He listened as Andrés and Julia delivered their vows; Julia with that straightforward way of hers, and Andrés reciting her a poem of Lorca, saying, eloquently, how his own words will never capture all the love he had for her. 

Soon after the ceremony, everyone headed to the villa Andrés has rented five minutes away from the town, where they start their celebrations. They danced, laughed, and drank for hours, exactly like they were supposed to. It was a little before midnight when all the guests left, except Martín, Sergio, the mum, and Sebastian; who only stayed because Martín asked him to stay the night. They stayed in the villa with Andrés and Julia, who will leave in 2 days to Greece.

Martín chose the room furthest away from Andrés’, and begged his body to just enjoy the night with Sebastian. But after three rounds, the poor guy was fast asleep, so Martín went for a swim in the private pool. Maybe it would exhaust his body enough for him to finally sleep.

After about thirty minutes, Martín saw Andrés walking towards the pool. At first he thought Julia was with him, and they intend to resume their night there, so he attempted to drown himself.

But it turns out that it’s just Andrés.

He looked majestic in his loosely closed rope, walking towards Martín. 

“Look at you! You’ve already exhausted the poor boy and still wide awake. Quite the beast, hmm!” Andrés smirked as he hovered near the edge of the pool.

“Oh boy, wouldn’t you like to know.”

Andrés chuckled as he sat a plate of fruit on the ground, near the spot of water Martín was in. He smiled lazily up at him.

“I saw that you were awake, so I brought you this,” Andrés stated. “You can’t sleep because of the lack of adrenaline, is that it? You need a new heist?”

“When you come back from Greece?”, Martín suggested.

“Sure.”

He stood still, staring down at him. And the sight of him filled Martín with such sudden sadness he felt it came out of his body and colored the water he’s in. He wanted to ask him to stay for a while, to just talk to him. They could share a bottle of wine in the garden, laugh and maybe wait until the sun comes up. They could watch it together. This would be enough for Martín, he realized. Just being in his presence.

“Okay.”

Andrés lingered for a moment before he spoke again.

“I’ll go back to sleep. Goodnight, Martín.”

“Goodnight, Andrés.”

He stood for a moment longer, a slight frown on his face, as he gazed at him. Then he blank and turned back.

Martín watched him walk away then swam down.


	6. Chapter 6

Andrés stayed at the bar, drinking his whisky, and sketching Julia as she danced with some strangers on the beach. She could get along with anyone. People simply adored her. It took some time for her to win Martín over, but even he likes her now. She’s bright and attractive; strong and fragile. Andrés expects to wake up one day to find the birds of the island helping put her in her dress. 

It was a lazy late afternoon. Their last one here. He’s just laying back and enjoying the view, the smell, the laughter and the music. The bartender humming and dancing as she prepares the drinks. 

Julia waved at him and blew him a kiss. Before a woman drew her into another dance.

He saw how the men fixed their gazes on her, roam around her, situate their bodies and make ready to leap. This, of course, until they saw Andrés, and realized that she was his. He had already bitten down on that sweet fruit, and now it completely belonged to him. He smiled to himself as he replayed the looks on their faces. Knowing that they can’t take anything from him; that they could only wish and then settle for less. No one could take anything from him anymore.

The feeling of warmth over-flooded him. Their time on the island was a piece out of paradise; the girl adores him; their short time apart did them good. The sun is warm; he can feel the phantom touches of it on the nape of his neck, and the water engulfs him perfectly. At a certain time in the day, it matches exactly Martín’s eyes. Everything there is exactly what it should be.

Everyone they meet is fascinated by them too; they are radiant; beautiful and glowing. When they dance together on the deck, everyone stops and watches them; when he sings for her, they grow deadly silent and listen; when he kisses her at the end, they applaud; as if every day was their wedding, and every new crowd makes their guests. It was all perfect. A fitting beginning of their lives together. 

He turned to the side as Julia comes running towards him, laughing; breathless. He kissed her on the cheek as he grabbed her to sit on his lap; shifting slightly his drink when she tried to reach for it.

“Another for _my wife,_ por favor” Andrés smiled at the bartender. Something about her bothers him; he can’t put his finger on it, but looking at her face disturbs his mood, despite her obvious beauty.

“God, I’ll miss this place. Can’t we just live here, forever?” she threw her head back on his shoulder.

“We’ll get bored, eventually. Humans can’t do with constant paradise; it goes against our deepest and most intrinsic nature,” Andrés says simply.

“I know, I know. And I miss everyone and everything.”

“Hm,” he kissed her neck; her hair tickling his face, “What do you miss?”

She laughed. “Oh, Andrés, everything! My mum, my friends, the city, all of it,” she turned to him, gasped, then clapped her hands, “A party! We should have a party when we get back.”

Andrés smiled. “A party for what, quierda?”

“For what? For us, of course. Our coming home party. We would have everyone over.”

Andrés laughed. “We did have everyone at our wedding party not two months ago.”

“And? This is welcoming them to our house and its Mister and Mistress, de Fonollosas.”

Andrés threw his head back, laughing. This is why he fell in love with her. She has this appetite for life of children; this naivety; sweet innocence, that Andrés can’t get enough of.

“Of course. Why not! Anything you want!”

“Anything I want?” she hummed before she kissed him.

Andrés pulled away to take a sip of his drink.

“Very beautiful,” the bartender said in a heavily accented English, looking up from the drawing at Andrés and smiled, showing her teeth-gap; nearly exactly like Martín’s. It’s misplaced on her face, irritating.

“I know right! Isn’t he the best artist out there,” Julia leaned in for another kiss. But he wasn’t in the exact mood for it anymore; he felt the sudden, familiar, unprompted anger rise in him.

He gave her a pick on the lips instead.

“Gracias,” he smiled at the bartender, “Shall we go back, hm?”

By the time they made it to the hotel, it had already gotten dark. And Andrés resumed packing. They had stayed a few more weeks than he intended. It’s a beautiful place, he’ll have to remember to bring Martín here once. Martín who’s probably furnishing his Palermo apartment now. Making it unmistakably his.

“Will we dine out tonight?” Julia threw herself on the bed.

“No. We have an early flight and better pack.”

“Sure. Are you okay?” she propped herself up on one elbow.

“Of course.”

Andrés looked up and flashed her a smile. But Julia wasn’t smiling back, she’s roaming her eyes all over his face, the way a trapped animal would, then slowly, she nodded.

——————

The first few months of their marriage were exactly what he expected them to be. Perfect. Full of passionate love-making, celebrations, and travelling. She remained as completely in love with him as when they got together. She can’t seem to get enough. Soon, he intends to include her in the robberies; auction houses in particular will be her speciality. Martín agrees with him that that would be the best for her, despite his initial rejection of her being included in anything. And then they will be really united. She wasn’t decades younger than him, but she was still young enough that he was the one introducing her to the world. Under his hand, she would be perfect. More than she already was.

Simply, everything was as amazing as it could be. But chaos intrudes in the corners; if anyone knows that, it’s Andrés.

He had made himself a cup of tea and was reading in the study in their home. The soft-light and the warmth of the tea were lulling him to sleep. He had nearly fallen asleep in his armchair before Julia barged in. Her eyes burning with excitement, her face breaking into an uncontained smile and her hands trembling. Trembling so much that for a few seconds he couldn’t make out the stick in her hand.

“Andrés,” she breathed.


	7. Chapter 7

Martín couldn’t care whether Andrés has a key or broke in. He jumped and pulled Andrés into his arms. Laughing; breathless. But Andrés was slow to respond.

“What’s wrong?” Martín pulled away.

Andrés took off his coat and walked to the couch. He sat down and looked up at Martín. 

“Julia is pregnant.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Martín took his coat and hung it. Then walked over to the fridge. “Does she want it?”

“She’s ecstatic, Martín. She’s rambling about becoming a real family. She thinks we’re going to play house.”

Martín put the drink in front of Andrés and sat across from him on the couch.

“How did it happen?” Martín could immediately tell that he asked the wrong question. Andrés’ face turned red in seconds. 

“How did it happen? Do I need to explain fucking biology 101 to you, Martín. What do you think? Have you forgotten what normal relations cause?”

Martín winced.

“It would surprise me. You don’t shut up about your boom boom ciao, no? You seem to know it too well,” Andrés continued.

Martín let him go through it. Andrés rarely lost control like that. He rarely let it happen in front of anyone else. When he does, he just lashes like a snake. Martín could take the bites.

Andrés closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds. “I don’t know. A mistake, of course. Something must have gone wrong. It doesn’t matter.”

“She won’t do an abortion, would she?”

“I doubt it. If I insist, she’ll just leave,” Martín stood up.

“Well, we can’t let that happen, no?” Martín started, Andrés fixed his eyes on him. “It doesn’t matter that she won’t stay, if she has the kid, it’ll be your blood. That’s not just her decision to make. It’ll be something tied to you. Out there,” Martín gestured widely as he paced around. “This has all sorts of disadvantages. She’ll want child support and everything of the kind, too. It’s not best for our careers to have anything like that, unnecessarily. Your name just popping up in a court here or there.”

Andrés frowned. "No. It’ll have to be eliminated,” he was thinking it over. “I could get her to agree. Make her choose. Me or it. She’s madly in love.” he bit his nails.

“She won’t make the right choice. It’s against their nature,” Martín took a breath. “Look, she’s still in the first few weeks, right?”

“Yes. She discovered right away. She’s very meticulous.”

“Well, then. You already know what you’ll do. It’s easy. Practical.”

“It could hurt her, too. I won’t kill her, she’s my wife”

“You won’t hurt her, no. The right doses will just get the little blood clot. She’ll be more than alright,”, Martín sat down. “Women do it to themselves in their homes every day. This isn’t any different.”

“Technically, it could work, yes.”

Martín continued. “And in practice, too. It would be a misfortune. But very probable.”

Andrés nodded. “She’s young, always moving and jumping around. It could happen to anyone. She would have nothing to doubt,” he stated, “Except that I left her and took a plane to Italy,” Andrés chuckled.

Martín laughed. “Okay. So? You were surprised. Excited, even. New dads don’t know how to react, right? For the better part of the next week, you’ll be ecstatic, too. Taking care of her and everything, and then just dilute it in some water or orange juice.”

Andrés smiled widely.

“We don’t want her to leave you over something as insignificant as that, do we?, Martín smiled “She’s young, controlled by primitive desires. She doesn’t know what the best for herself, or for anyone else, is. This way, it’ll even bring your more together, no?”

“Yes. Whatever love she would have had for it, would be poured into me, into our relationship.”

“Exactly.”

Andrés breathed and nodded. Affirmative. 

“Could you imagine it, though? A little boy who looks just like me? That I could tell my robberies stories to,” he leaned back and sipped from his drink.

“No,” he said plainly.

Martín could imagine it perfectly. With Sergio’s glasses, too big for his face, and Andrés’ smile.

“You’re a bastard,” Andrés laughed softly as he looked across the room.

“Oh, it would be perfect, Andrés!”, Martín folded his hands and rested his face on them, “You would read him Dostoevsky for his bedtime stories, or maybe he would prefer Tolstoy?”, Andrés got up and started roaming around, shaking his head; laughing, “They’ll call during a robbery because he got into a fight and broke the other kid’s nose,” Martín chuckled, “Oh, Mr. Fonollosa, this behavior is completely unacceptable. You must come this very moment,” Martín imitated in a high-pitched voice.

“It would be my kid, Martín. Not yours,” Andrés laughed, turning his back to him.

Martín shrugged. “I would teach him some tricks”, he took a breath, stayed silent for a few seconds. “This is not your life.” 

_This is not our life._

“No.”

Andrés continued roaming. Since Martín practically moved there permanently, Andrés hadn’t yet come here.

He stopped after a few steps. Martín smiled. Andrés didn’t turn around for minutes.

“It’s by the window. So you can enjoy the sun.”

Andrés ran his fingers over the easel and canvas slowly. Savoring them, besides them, all the art supplies he could need.

Andrés said nothing. Still hasn’t turned his back to Martín.

“You gave me the window,”, he chuckled softly, “It’s beautiful.”

Martín walked over to him to stand by his side. “I would give you all the windows in the world,” he was going for a little joke, but Andrés turned his face to him, and just looked at him for seconds, but with an intensity that threatened to annihilate him. Then he pulled him in his arms. He could smell his shampoo, cologne, and his skin faintly under it.

When Martín dies, and he’s engulfed by darkness, he hopes that at least it would be this that he could smell around him. Just Andrés. That it would bring how real his body felt under his fingers, the steady rhythm of his breath, the feeling that he was melting onto Andrés; turned to liquid, seeping into his body; his whole being.

Andrés pulled away first. “What were you playing? Before I came in?” he asked, walking towards the couch.

“Nothing in particular. Just some tunes,” Martín shrugged.

“Play something for me,” he stretched on the couch, so Martín sat on the armchair opposite it.

He picked up his guitar, situated it, and took a breath.

Then he started playing _Hallelujah._ Andrés closed his eyes and rested his head on his folded arms behind him. When Martín began singing softly, Andrés smiled. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?

Everything happens as Andrés expected it to. He set everything in motion and knew the following steps well. First, he showed his excitement; enthusiasm for the life growing inside of her. He gave in to her demands of a celebration; despite his initial rejection saying that it's too early. Truth is, he wanted for it to be a clear operation, if no one knew about it, then less grievances. But he did it. For her. He deserves an award, really, if you ask him.

They threw a party. Everyone showed up. Her mother, her friends, Martín and even Sergio; the only one who kept eyeing Andrés suspiciously all night. But Martín distracted him, when Sergio took Andrés aside to question him.

Andrés even discussed possible names with Julia when she insisted later that night, undeniably prompted by Martín, who joked that if it's a boy, it has to be named after him. 

When Julia laughed and responded that Martín is definitely one of the main candidates for a godfather, Andrés noticed how Martín's expressions slightly darkened; his eyes became unfocused and the smile on his face faltering in the tiniest ways.

It was during those few days too, that Andrés began to notice how childish she is. How excited she always is; pre-maturely, how impatient, with no regards to reality, how all her wants have to be met here and now, with unending questions and requests. The pregnancy made her even more excited. She never stopped talking; about everything and nothing. At this stage, it was just background noise to Andrés, it hadn't yet become a real issue; unbearable and It never would. It all stopped abruptly, just as Andrés expected.

At the beginning of the second week, he did what Martín suggested. All the other steps followed by themselves. The sudden bleeding, him rushing her to the hospital, when he became sure nothing could be undone, his feigned surprise and not-understanding of the news; making the doctor explain time after another that those are normal occurrences, that it could happen to anyone at this stage, her grief (that he expected, yes, but didn't truly understand. How could she grief what she hadn't even known), and his own feigned grief.

All of this played out in front of him like a play that he wrote and participated in. He scripted, knew all the lines and followed it.

Exactly because of this, the couldn't understand why it wouldn't end. 

He gave it time, weeks that became months. But nothing changed, her depression only got worse. Her silence filled the house, only replaced by her crying at different intervals of the day. At one point, he started sleeping more and more in a different room, as he couldn't sleep with her endless crying at night.

Martín visited them one night. He brought some joyfulness into the house, like how he naturally brightened up any place he's in. He cooked them italian dishes that he became a master at, taught her a few amusing words in Sicilian that he became familiar with, and he even did a karaoke session where he sang and danced.

Even at the worst of times, Martín couldn't help but be the sun embodied. 

At one point, Martín tried to talk to her in a serious manner.

"Look, Julia, It's a misfortune, but it's not the end of the world. Look at me, look at me", he held Julia's face in his hands, "You're young, you'll have others. You've grieved for longer than the child even existed. You can't waste yourself away like that"

As things usually happen with Martín, it backfired. Poor thing, despite his best of intentions. Julia broke down at that, going between calling Martín insensitive and stammering how she didn't even get to know the baby's sex. Thankfully, she excused herself for a nap right after.

Andrés joined Martín in the kitchen to help him cleanup. He slumbered down on the chair and held his face in his hands. He was just completely exhausted. This wasn't how his marriage was supposed to go.

"Why don't you bring her to Italy? Move there for a while. Maybe she needs a change of scenery", Martín put a cup of black tea for Andrés on the table in front of him. Then patted his hair. 

Andrés chuckled. "You just don't a miss a chance to take advantage of anything, do you?"

"Fuck off", he didn't take his hands off; treading through his hair, as he pulled his head towards his stomach and rubbed his back with the other hand. Andrés almost purred at the feeling. 

He was beyond grateful for his presence; his bright smile and grounding touch. Always with him, against everything. 

Always Martín and him. 

It was moments like this, when Andrés wondered what things would have been like if Martín was a woman; despite how difficult, nearly impossible it was, to imagine him as anything that he wasn't; despite Andrés own reluctance to ever choose to change anything about him, even if he could. 

But still, he wondered.

Julia walked into the kitchen, or more accurately, she dragged her body into the kitchen; moving like a shadow. She lost almost all of her beauty; her body thinned up like a sick old woman. The only color in her pale face is the dark shadows around her eyes

"I couldn't sleep", she said, staring at Andrés and Martín, who immediately drew his hands away, looking like a deer caught in the red light. 

"Sit down, then. I'll make us both some tea, okay?", Martín said quickly. 

She nodded and sat down across Andrés. Not taking her eyes off Martín.

It didn't take long before things got even worse than they were. She grew more silent, but the crying stopped. It should have been a good sign, but it was anything but. She stopped sleeping all together, while before weeping exhausted her. The lack of sleep and eating drove her sanity bit by bit. Her previous curious questions turned into questions that were too much alike interrogations.

At first, the questions looked innocent enough, he'll give her that. Does Andrés want other children? Did his previous wives do? Why didn't they have any then? What were the real reasons for his divorces? Why can't they start trying right away? (despite how she generally refused any sex since the incident), but soon they grew closer and closer to the main subject; where did he go that night? Why did he leave in the first place?

One night, Andrés found her rummaging through the garbage. She was growing irrational, insane.

Paranoid.

Andrés was done with her. He told her that she wasn't the woman he married anymore and gave her his divorce papers to sign.

And he left for Palermo, to Martín. Some time in Italy would heal his broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesistate to throw rocks at me @nharidy (Tumblr)


	9. Chapter 9

Martín slumped down in the armchair across Andrés and lit a cigarette. He stretched his legs on the coffee table. Andrés closed the book he was reading and stretched his legs on top of Martín's. 

Ah, playful. The melancholic stage is over, then. 

"It's wonderful what language reveals about us, don’t you think? We think we have so much control over it; that we utter exactly what we think we feel; want, need, but it works the other way around. It knows us better than we know ourselves"

Martín shifted his body towards him and hummed. 

As much as he detests seeing Andrés miserable after his breakups. As much as he gets disgusted by his own self for the undeniable sweetness that he finds in it; disgusted too by the pure anger that colonizes his body towards Andrés then, for daring to mourn something that wasn’t anything at all. A child play. Where Martín has lived  _ this  _ for years. As much as he wants to scream at Andrés when he wonders, with the utmost sincerity that breaks Martín’s heart, why it won’t work for him? Why does he always end up here; as much as he wants to scream at him then, till his lungs bleed  _ Because you already know. Because you already tasted it; you know what it is like to receive absolute devotion, because you know what it is like to be worshipped for everything that you are and not an ounce less. Because you won’t accept anything less. Because we both know that you’re looking for something that is even a shadow of us. _ As much as he’s repulsed by his cowardice; for not daring to utter those words.

As much as all this eats at his heart, it’s worthy of the bliss that fills him when he gets to witness the world regain its colors for Andrés again.

Andrés shrugged. "Or at least our ancestors did. They were much more in touch with who they essentially were; what they really felt, without any of our distractions"

"I would take any distraction that comes with a running toilet, they probably would have made the same choice too", Martín chuckled, "Hey! They did"

He completely ignores Martín's answer. "You know how Arabic expresses its highest form of love?

Ah, here he goes, the exotic interest stage.

"In poetry, it's loosely translated to  _ amor a muerte _ , but its literal translation is different. In Spanish, Italian, English, etc. Death is a destination at the end of love. Quite poetic too”, he cocked his head. “but in Arabic, the literal meaning is dying in love, it’s continuous, you see? Dying walks alongside love, step by step; an integral part of it from the start. Oftentimes, the word of love is omitted altogether too, unnecessary; redundant. The remaining word is only that of dying. As if they are the same thing.”, he leaned back and looked away. “It's easy to die once; a continuous dying that doesn't pause is something else entirely", Andrés shifted his gaze back at Martín.

_ Only the dying of the lover,  _ Martín thought. 

He wondered what happens to the beloved then. Does he feed on it? Does the death of the lover give life to the beloved, the way a fetus sucks the life out of its mother; the way the living blood of his lovers circulates in Dracula?

Not taking his eyes off him, Andrés continued, "Could you imagine it? A love so devastating; inevitable in its murderous nature?

Martín glanced at his own reflection on the balcony door across them. The coating makes him look darker; highlighting the black shadows around his eyes, his collarbones sticking out, and his jaw, with his hollowed-out cheeks, look sharper than usual. He finds that he likes the look. It's beautiful, in a way. 

"No", he turned to Andrés, "Love is love and dying is dying. It doesn't kill unless you allow it too; unless you want it too"

Andrés looked at him for seconds; with this look of his, that made Martín feel as he’s skin is being peeled, layer by layer, until his core was bare to see. Then he clicked his tongue and smiled.

“Ah, Martín, but isn’t that the beauty of it?”

After a minute, Martín stood up. “Now, I have some real poetry for you, but first, wine?”

“Always”

Martín got them a bottle and two glasses and set them in front of Andrés, then he went to his room and came out with a bunch of papers. Andrés glanced at them, then at Martín, urchin his eyebrow.

“Berlín”

“Berlín”, Andrés repeated slowly

“Yes”

“The entire city?”

“Well, not literally", Martín chuckled. "But listen, 6 nights in a row”, he got out a map of the city, with little circles across it, connected together by a different marker, “Look, best jewelers in the entire city. 2 auction houses as well”

Andrés studied it for minutes, looked up at him, then slowly, his lips turned in a lopsided smile. “You want to turn them insane”

“They won’t know what hit them, Andrés, we’ll take the city like a storm”, Martín mirrored his smile.

“Sergio would lose his mind”

“We’ll give the poor kid a heart attack”, Martín chuckled.

“Now, what are the chances that it’ll succeed and we won’t rot in prison for the rest of our lives?”

Martín took a sip from his wine, slowly. “I’d say about 25%, if I’m generous”

Andrés laughed. “Well, tell me more”

They spent the rest of the night drinking and talking. Planning is not exactly the right word for what they did; at least not after emptying two bottles of wine. At this point, they were nothing but a laughing mess so tangled together, that Martín remembers in his drunken haze, glancing at their reflection at the other side of the room and not quite distinguishing between the both of them. 

They decided to postpone the robberies and the planning and to travel around for a while first. 

Andrés took him to the  _ Chácara do Céu Museum  _ ndrés in Rìo de janeiro . Hewas lost in a painting; one of the rare times, where he wasn't compelled to talk and spew poetry about it. This only happened when a piece of art was either too beautiful that Andrés couldn't add words to it or it distressed him too much. Oftentimes, both. 

Martín stepped closer to him. In front of them was Monet's  _ Marine.  _ Andrés still didn't say anything, staring at it. His eyes glazed.

Martín leaned in to him and whispered. "Do you want it? I'll give it to you"

Andrés turned to look at him. A shadow of a smile on his lips.

They walked for hours among the streets of the city; old and new, beautiful and destroyed. The city harboured the pregnant air for the carnival. The one Martín and Andrés relied on for their little heist. It was a good time to be in the city. Just before it. The excitement leaking out of the bodies around them; everyone staying out in the streets later than they normally would. The air of celebration danced around them as they watched the locals decorate the alleys. Andrés' eyes shimmered as he watched them. The set-up lights reflected in the dark of his eyes.

Andrés' beauty swollows the breath out Martín's lungs. It stands out everywhere, like a chemical element that reacts to every single element of the universe perfectly. As if the world breaks itself apart and puts itself back together only to fit Andrés, time after another.

The two men (one was barely a man; a child, really) Andrés called arrived with enough weapons. The four of them managed to get in easily among the havoc of the carnival near the museum.

"What else do you want?", Martín called out to Andrés as he was chaining the 3rd security guard.

Andrés hummed. Strolling among the hanged paintings.

"Dalí"

Martín walked over to him. Playing with his gun.

"hmm. My choice of nuts would be Picasso", he took off  _ The Dance.  _ Andrés chuckled. "He was a genius"

"And Insane"

"Like you", Andrés smirked.

There weren't even any alarms on the paintings. Ridiculous. He laughed studying the painting. "What the hell is even going on in here?", he shook his head and gave it to one of the guys.

They took one other painting and disappeared as quickly as they got there. The crowd carried them to safety. Martín even joined the dancing as they were blending in; Andrés leading him into a turn, where he kept spinning and coming back to him. Both were breathless. Martín felt the texture of the bliss surrounding him as if he could touch it. The plenitude. The beauty of the city. The beauty of  _ Andrés _ . His traitor mind, out of his grasp, couldn't help but wonder would it be like, if he dared asking for more.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because if I don't get both domesticity and grandiosity, i'll die I guess.

Andrés leaned on the table, sipping his wine and enjoying the soft breeze coming from the kitchen window. The faint sounds of the night city making their ways to them. He hummed along to the _Carlos Gardel_ vinyl Martín had put on; _El Día Que Me Quieras_ , coming from the record player in the living room, as he watched Martín, his back to him, moving elegantly to the rhythm of the music as he baked.

"Remind me again, why am I doing this?"

"It's a funeral, Martín. How rude would it be if we went empty handed"

Martín chuckled. "Men aren't expected to bring anything. It's the women of the family who do all of these to take with them. Also no one does this _now_ "

"Well, there aren't any women in this family so it's on you", Andrés smirked, as he moved to push Martín's hair out of his face, after watching him struggle doing it with his arms.

"We have to start this perfectly. They have a lot of respect for us here, we have to deliver", he continued and Martín rolled his eyes.

Martín took the first patch out of the oven. He leaned down to smell them, then smiled up at Andrés. "Perfect", he murmured. 

Andrés chuckled, you would think Martín just finished a particularly difficult job.

Martín leaned out of the window. "I'm going to miss this city. Well, not the cold, I won't miss that, but everything else"

Andrés will miss it too. It's the longest he has lived with Martín in the same place since Madrid. They have been here for nearly a year; preparing everything. 

He smirked at Martín, "I told you it'll grow on you"

"You were right. As always"

"They won't miss us though. That's for sure", Andrés chuckled.

The robberies in Berlín are going to be the biggest so far. They were supposed to start in a week, but an opportunity presented itself and they took it. A perfect start, really. A funeral in a mansion, the daughter of one the richest men in the city. What would be better than this!

He moved to take one of the muffins. "Hey!", Martín smacked his hand away, "Those are a dead girl's muffins."

"I need to attest the quality", he raised his chin.

Martín raised his eyebrow, then moved a few steps backwards, and did a mocking open gesture towards the muffins.

"Please", he smiled. 

Andrés took a careful slow bite. Despite the joking nature of it, Andrés could see the slightest nervousness on Martín's face. If it were anyone else questioning anything Martín did, this slight nervousness would be replaced by the rage of Ares.

He took his time chewing, eyes closed; barely suppressing the smile growing on his face.

"Exquisite", he pronounced slowly, opening his eyes.

Martín laughed, shaking his head.

They were basking in the moment; the lovely smell filling the kitchen, the wine and the music, each other's laughter. For a moment, Andrés had the feeling that he was watching them with a bird's eye view. His heart swelled on the sight, with a tinge of something he couldn't name. The same feeling he got when reviewing a perfect plan and he had the sense that a tiny detail was wrong, but he couldn't point it out.

It was the quiet before the storm.

The storm they were about to bring down on the city. 

Andrés hovered over Martín. They weren't out of time, yet, but it was important that no one grew suspicious of them. It was still the first day. 

Martín took a sharp breath, then looked up with a smile at Andrés. "Perfect", he said as the safe opened. 

They took everything they came for and got out as if nothing had happened. They stayed for a while, paid their respects again and left. 

By the time anyone discovered what happened, Andrés and Martín would be out of the city.

Andrés traced the diamonds with his fingers. Martín opened the bag for him, when he finished putting in everything, Martín closed it securely, looked up at him and smiled. "Perfect".

By the time the police figured something was wrong and made it to the place, Andrés and Martín would be in their home, preparing dinner.

Andrés studied the painting in front of him, he tried to retrace in his mind the process the painter took to get this exact shade of blue; he had a few theories. Martín had carried the last painting they're taking, then looked back at the now emptier room. He bent down to tie his shoes, taking his time, then smiled up at Andrés. "Perfect", he whispered.

They left the security guards blindfolded and chained. None of them said a word during the entire process, they didn't need words to work to the other's rhythm. Not even their voices could be traced back to them.

By the time the police figured something was wrong and made it to the place, Andrés and Martín would be in their home; Andrés painting as Martín strummed on his guitar, Andrés smiling at Martín's eyes looking back at him from the paper.

Andrés smiled as he looked at Martín from the table he was sharing with two other gentlemen. Martín was in the front of the room, auctioning the last item of the night; a necklace that belonged to a queen, charming everyone with his wits and remarks. He shone under the strong lights. 

"Want? Any higher? Martín asked, "9 million Euros then, number 21. Sold!", he turned to Andrés, looked him in the eye and smiled, "Perfect". 

"Ladies and Gentlemen!", he bowed down, then left the room, Andrés following him after minutes.

By the time they realize they were tricked and by whom, Andrés and Martín would be laughing at home as they watched the news and packed. _The Shadow Thieves_ , they called them. He glanced at Martín and smiled to himself. Martín looked the furthest thing from a shadow; he was fire itself, making a shadow out of the entire city. 

Andrés looked down on the city from the roof of _Park Inn_ , in _Alexanderplatz_. They were nearly caught, but they both ran; laughing and managed their way to the top of the building; the highest one in the city. When Andrés reached the roof and put his hand out for Martín, he looked up at Andrés and smiled. "Perfect", he whispered; breathless.

The police were running in circles down there, looking for them. Andrés smirked to himself at the thought, but was soon lost in the beauty of the city under him. Martín stepped closer to him, huddling in his coat, his hair ruffled by the winds, his nose and cheeks red and eyes feverish. He looked both vulnerable and invincible.

"We look like the angels from _Der Himmel Über Berlin_ ", Martín said, then chuckled, "Although I would hesitate calling us that. Fallen Angels, maybe", he turned his face to Andrés, a wicked smile growing on his face.

" _Denn das Schöne ist nichts_

_als des Schrecklichen Anfang,_

_den wir noch grade ertragen,_

_und wir bewundern es so, weil es gelassen verschmäht,_

_uns zu zerstören. Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich."_

Andrés recited as he looked upon the city.

he turned to look at Martín. Martín didn't take his eyes off him, nor did he say anything for long seconds; his eyes shining and fixed at Andrés, then he whispered a faint _sí_. 

They both turned to look at the sky in front of them and the city beneath their eyes; feeling like gods.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

_ It's fine _ , Martín thinks to himself when Andrés takes a young woman back to his hotel room when they were travelling.

_ I can live with it _ , Martín repeats when Andrés spends a few weeks in Italy courting another woman.

_ It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter _ , Martín sings his mantra back to himself as Andrés gets infatuated by a charming German woman.

He likes to think to himself that none of them worked because he gave Andrés something more important, more beautiful. That none of them managed to shift Andrés' attention completely; it was still on Martín, the planning and the robberies.

He's grateful for the time he gets to have Andrés all to himself. He cherishes every moment and locks it away as deep in himself as he could reach. He knows too that when all of this perishes; when all layers of this reality peels away; after their adventures and glories reach their end, after Sergio disappears somewhere after completing his soulless heist, after all of these women leave and Andrés loses his beauty and charm to age and weariness, that then it will come down to him and Andrés; that it'll be him remaining by his side until the very end, that they'll look on the life they've led together; the life they've shared and everything else will only be empty, meaningless fillers. It'll be enough for Martín to die like this, only if he's lucky enough to be allowed to. That if he's luckier even, it'll be him and Andrés again in hell, never to be parted, like  _ Dante _ 's  _ Paolo and Francesca. _

Maybe it finally worked, because sitting now in the bright bathroom with Andrès cutting his hair and shaving his face, he's completely numb. He doesn't even think of the wedding that's coming, he doesn't think of the fear that otherwise would be haunting him and rendering him useless as this time; this woman seems perfect, she's mature and for the first time Martín senses a love in one of Andrés' women that isn't infatuation -If he's honest to himself, Martín respects her. He doesn't think of any of it because Martín has something better for Andrés; nothing that any woman could offer him.

"Hey! Don't move!" Andrés tsks as a slight cut burns on Martín's face. "I told you to sit still", Andrés frowns and kneels a bit in front of Martín, focused on inspecting the cut.

Andrès wipes around it with his thumb and leans to Martín's face, where to Martín's bafflement, he brushes his lips on Martín's cheek and licks the cut. It stings. Andrés leans back and hums, his eyes glowing, looking at Martín. 

"You're nervous", Andrés stated as he stood up and raised Martín's chin by his finger to resume. "Since when it's the best-man who's nervous and the groom who calms him, hmm?"

Martín takes Andrés hands away from his face, holds them in his own hands, and looks him in the eyes. "I have a proposition for you"

Andrés cuckles, clicking his tongue. "You're a bit too late, Martín. My hand in marriage is already taken"

"Oh, my broken heart!". Martín stands up and swings dramatically with his hand on his chest, "How will I ever heal from this!". He kneels and puts his head in his hands.

Andrés shakes his head; laughing. "Get back here. I'm not done"

Martín sits in front of him again. "What do you think about the gold?"

Andrès turns his eyes to him, raising an eyebrow. "Gold?"

"No", Martín smiles, "THE gold. The national gold reserve in the Bank of Spain"

Andrés face is transformed instantly with the most beautiful smile. "Tell me"

Martín does. He tells him of their masterpiece. If Homer gifted his _Iliad_ to his gods; Martín gifts his epic to his own.

Andrés forgets all about the wedding for the day as he and Martín discuss the plan late into the night, barely ever leaving the room. They fell asleep entangled without noticing, voices hoarse after an entire day of speaking about it. 

"Can you imagine it? The moment we get in, the mountain of molten gold. Nothing ever created could be this beautiful", Andrés whispers, his eyes glinting. 

_ Except you _ , Martín thought,  _ Only you are equal to its beauty _ .

"They'll lose their minds when they realize it's an Argentine who took all of our gold back", Martín slumpers on the words, passing in and out of consciousness.

"Ah", Andrés gasps with a pleasant look of surprise on his face, "I didn't notice. Yes, a brilliant argentine taking back the gold of his people. Very poetic"

_ To give it to a Spaniard _ , Martín laughs to- or more accurately at- himself. If it should bother him, he doesn't notice. Andrés is his country; his home. He belongs to none but him.

"It's fair", he shrugs, "That gold was the best thing to come out of South America, and they plundered it"

"The second best", Andrés whispers, but Martín had already fallen asleep.

Andrés woke him up the next morning, giving him coffee and another question. The pride that fills Martín could get whole nationalist countries into another war.

The night before the wedding, instead of going out to a quiet restaurant with Sergio to celebrate, they stay in and tell him about it. 

Sergio acts exactly how Martín expected. 

"Sergio. Sergio. It needs work. Of course it does. It's the biggest heist that could ever be done. No one has done anything bigger. No one. It needs time and planning, but it works"

"How does it work?", Sergio ticks his glasses; exasperated.

"We know how to get in. We roughly know how to get to the gold. We'll figure the rest"

"You don't know how to get out", Sergio states.

Martín is about to lose it on him. It's like a fucking mantra Sergio keeps parroting.

"There are ways. We'll figure it out"

"Let me repeat this. You won't get out. Alive. You won't get out alive. They are no ways for it; nothing to figure out"

"It's too early to deem that there aren't any ways, Sergio. We figured how to get in, we figured how to take the gold. Getting out is nothing", Andrés says and Martín nods.

"No. No. It's not nothing. It's everything. What the hell would be the use of the gold if you both die inside?", Sergio is pushing the words out as quickly as he could. He's trying to reach with his arms to both Andrés and Martín at the same time. "I won't participate in your deaths. No"

Martín was about to say something -he's not sure what, but Andrés signals to him with his eyes to stop.

"Look. Let us put it aside for now and we'll discuss it with fresh minds after the honeymoon. Think it over, Sergio. You'll fall in love with it too", Andrés says. Sergio takes a sharp breath, nods, then leaves the room. 

"He'll come around", Andrés turns to Martín.

"We don't need him", Martín starts.

"Martín", Andrés warns.

"You don't trust me? You don't trust us? We could figure it out on our own. We don't need his help", Martín doesn't stop, despite Andrès' visible anger.

"He's my brother. I want him in", Andrès says in a finalized tone and Martín knows better than to argue this, but he can't help the rage gradually filling him.

"And if he won't do it? We'll throw it away, ha?", Martíns gets out in roughed breaths. His voice breaking.

"He will. He just needs time and we'll convince him", Andrés doesn't answer his question.

Martín grinds on his jaw and nods. His hands trembling in anger despite holding them in tight fists.

"I'll see you tomorrow", Andrés walks to the door and says coldly, but stands still.

Martín calms his breath and turns to him. He doesn't want to ruin the mood. He doesn't want to bother him before his big day -or ever, really. So he manifests his best smile and flashes it at Andrés.

"I won't be the one in white", he goes for a joke too.

It works. Andrés gives him a satisfied smile then walks away. Martìn watches him. A sense of dread growing inside him from his fingertips.

Martín stays and waits, as he always does. He stays beside him at the altar and waits for their vows to end, for their kiss to finish. He drinks at home and waits for him to come back. Going through the endless cycle of pain, rage, and numbness. Andrés and Elena's few months away feels like years to Martín. The only thing keeping him sane is the plan. After some effort, he blocks Sergio from his mind and tries to work on it. The only moments of clarity he gets is when he's occupied with it. He eats standing up in front of the board, his sandwiches tasting faintly of chalk. He avoids getting completely wasted so he could still figure the equations. He channels everything in him into it. It nearly works.

Andrés comes back to him. With his wife on his side, but he comes back. He embraces him and Martíns feels like a man brought out of purgatory. The skin that comes in contact with Andrés' touch purge with life. 

The plan is still put aside, but Martín isn't fully worried. He knows it captured Andrés, he knows they are just waiting. If there's anything that Martín knows how to do, it's waiting. So he opens the windows and lets the sunlight fill the apartment and he makes breakfast for Andrés who came to see him in Palermo. He watches as Andrés nibbles on the tangerine Martín is peeling for him; lips reddened with the juice of it and eyes more brownish than usual in the sun. Beautiful. Martín would have lost himself in the sight if he didn't notice Andrés' hand tremble and the fruit falling from it softly to the table.


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re sick”, Martín repeated, it’s not a question. He seems like he’s struggling to understand it; as if Andrés had proposed to him a new mathematical truth that changes everything he has already known. He’s not looking at him though. Actually, he’s looking everywhere but at him; his eyes unfocused, darting between everywhere. Andrés is reminded of the way animals’ lower bodies keep moving, frantically and with no intention or aim, after decapitation. 

“There’s no cure”. Andrés says.

Martín nods, a little frenziedly. He keeps nodding, still averting his gaze. Andrés finds that he can’t bear it. He wants him to look at him.

“How long?”, he asks. Fidging with his mug.

“4 years”, he said. Quickly, he added, “it could be 6 or 7, you know doctors!”

Martín stayed silent for long seconds, his eyes slowly focusing on something that Andrés can’t see. After what feels like hours to Andrés, he says, “We still have enough time. We could still melt gold together”

It’s a simple statement said in the voice; the tone and the intonation that became as familiar to Andrés as the voice of his own thoughts, but at this moment, Andrés is sure that if he could go back in time and listen to Mozart’s own original performance, it wouldn’t even match the beauty of it to him.

“We would need one or two big robberies before it. This heist will cost a lot. We should start right away, no?”, Martín added, as he stood to take their mugs to the kitchen.

Andrés smiled. “What do you think about Paris?”

Martín paused and pondered for a moment, “Paris”, he said slowly, “It seems beautiful.”, he burst out, before turning and leaving the room. Andrés half expected Martín to utter a joke about how they’re doing justice to the rest of the world to rob anything from France. He’s a bit disappointed.

Andrés nodded to the empty room. He’s itching to call out to him; say something. Martín’s reaction should’ve put him at ease -if anything, it only showed how well he understands Andrés; how well he knows his needs and desires. But it was tugging at him. It’s not like he expected pity from him -never from Martín, but still, for some reason, he was the one Andrés dreaded telling the most. He was the first one he wanted to know too. 

He takes a long shower and goes to bed.

He falls into an uncomfortable sleep, where consciousness and unconsciousness seem to entangle further and further in each other. At some point, he strikes awake and something seems off immediately. Martín isn’t in the room.

Martín refuses to sleep outside on the couch when Andrés sleeps over, probably to jokingly punish him for saying he doesn’t want a room. Andrés smiles to himself at Martín’s antics. It doesn’t bother him, not at all actually, despite generally disliking sleeping in the same bed with anyone else. He finds comfort in Martín’s nearness; in his warm body reaching out to his in the midst of his sleep.

“Martín”

Andrés opens the door and calls out, but there comes no sound. There’s a strong breeze of chilly air outside. Andrés walks out to the bathroom, half-awake as he is. Sometimes Martín likes taking his showers in the middle of the night. He tentatively opens the door, but there’s no one inside. 

He notices that the deck is open, so he pulls his coat, puts it on, and walks to it. The cold is biting outside, but Martín isn’t there.

So Andrés takes a breath and pulls himself onto the roof. And here he found him, sitting, his back to him.

“Martín”, he looks at Andrés, before turning back in an instant. He coughs. “I was just having a smoke, I didn’t want to disturb you. Go back to sleep, I’ll come down in a minute”, he said in a shaky voice, too quickly. Seemingly sniffling too. A bang of pain drums in Andrés’ chest.

Andrés strides to him. “God, Martín, you’re freezing. What the fuck are you doing up here in a t-shirt at 3 am?”. He took off his coat and sat next to him as he put it on him. All the time, Martín’s looking down, shaking his head. Andrés could see a tear falling out.

“Hey! What is it?”, he cupped his face, but Martín was shaking his head even more frantically now, shivering all over, even with Andrés’ coat. “Look at me”, Andrés handled his face up, a little forcefully and finally Martín looks him in the eye. His eyes are welled up, the way a dark blue sky is before a storm. _Oh,_ Andrés suddenly realizes.

Andrés pulls him and puts his arms around him. “It’s okay”, he’s rubbing his back and arms; trying to warm him, comfort him, but Martín clutches forcefully to him and buries his face in his chest, unable to obscure the growing stifles, that’s growing more and more to sound like wailing. 

Each cry seemed to be in direct control of a thread around Andrés’ heart, pulling it. Andrés feels the sudden need to cut his own body open and engulf Martín inside of him.

“I’m sorry”, Andrés whispers near his ear, pulling him closer. “I’m sorry”. 

He doesn’t know how many times he repeated it; nor how long they stayed there.

The thought that he would relish in the comfort of knowing that Martín would grieve him -perhaps even more than his wife, that Martín would always remember how important Andrés was to him, how extraordinary their bond was, turned to ash in his mouth. For the first time since he got the news, the weight and the reality of his death hit him. For the first time too, he wonders how he’ll be able to say goodbye. Sitting there, on the roof in the dark, with Martín breaking apart in his arms, he feels no smugness. He feels nothing but raw pain. Pain and guilt.

In the morning, neither of them mention anything.

When he took off to go back to Spain, Martín tagged along to open the topic up with Sergio again.

It doesn’t go that much better than last time, but Sergio asks Martín to leave him the work he’s done in the past few months. It’s a win. Sergio is at least considering it and willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. 

Martín looks obviously more relaxed for the first time since Palermo. He spends a few days with him and Elena before taking off a couple of hours ago to Palermo. Andrés wanted him to stay. He didn’t really see the need of him going back to Italy before they travel together to France, but Martín seemed resolved on it so Andrés let it go. Martín usually answers to all and every single call or ask of Andrés, he rarely ever denies him anything; Andrés knows that he would let himself be killed if he asked, so when he does refute something, it’s not negotiable. Andrés doesn’t ask twice.

Nevertheless, once again, Andrés feels good. This marriage looks promising; so far it’s going so well. Elena is a mature, intelligent, elegant woman. Strong and beautiful too. She somewhat reserved in her love, unlike his previous wives, but she states her admiration and respect clearly. She’s a good woman to spend the few years he has left with.

If only life was that nice.

“You’re dying”, Elena states from behind the counter, as they were setting up the table for dinner.

He doesn’t say anything, sets up the rest of the table, and sits down. He looks at her then, from where he’s setting; he studies her stance, body language.

“And you’re leaving”, Andrés said coldly. 

She walked to the table and sat calmly. She reached for the fork and started eating. After a minute, she wiped her mouth.

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you? What was your plan, by the way? Wait for a couple of years, then when you got too weak to hide it, too sick, then I’d be a bitch for leaving a dying man on his deathbed, no?”

Andrés took a sip from his wine. “Do you think you’ll be asked to wipe my ass, Elena? You were going to live like a queen those few years".

“How exactly did you play this scenario in your head, Andrés? That we would travel for those 3 years, dance in all clubs, and eat in all the restaurants while we just wait for you to die!”

“Precisely”. Andrés stated. Elena snickered, shaking her head in disbelief.

“What sort of life would that be? What is wrong with you to not see how unfair that would be for me? I married you because I was promised, no, I was vowed, a whole life. And now what do I get? An extended vacation around Europe?”

“You also made a vow. In health and sickness. Till death do us part, no?, Andrés said in a careful tone.

“God, you don’t understand it at all, do you? What did I get from your health? Nothing. We’ve been married for what? Half a year!”, she paused, took a sip from her wine, and continued. “I want a life, Andrés. A whole one. I want someone to grow old with. I want to build a family and have children and yes travel around Europe each summer, but then come back to an actual life. I can’t put my life on pause, travel, and have fun with you while waiting for you to die so then I would go and start a real one”

Andrés nodded. She reached out to hold his hand, “I love you. I truly do. Don’t think that this is easy on me, please. I just can’t stand by and watch you die, Andrés. I can’t fight death. I was willing to stand your difficulties, to deal with Martín, but I can’t fight death. This is too much, too early”

“What’s wrong with Martín?”

“What’s wro- what? You’re asking about Martín now? You’re unbelievable, God!”, she stood up, took a sharp breath “Anyway, I think it’s best if I leave now, I’ll come back for my stuff later”

Andrés mirrored her. “No. Please. Pack your bags, take your time. You shouldn’t leave this late, I’ll go. You’ll get the papers in days”. Well, he was a gentleman after all, even if she’s a fucking bitch.

“I’m sorry, Andrés. I really am”

“Me too”, he walked to the front door. Before closing it behind him, he turned back. “Hey, Elena. How did you know?”

“I saw your used syringes on the sink”, Andrés is sure he didn’t leave any used or new syringes anywhere. He’s very careful with his medicine. With how, where, and when he uses it. “I did my research. An old friend is a doctor too. I called her”

Andrés is certain he didn’t leave it there, but he could see that she wasn’t lying or hiding anything either.

He nodded at her and left for Palermo.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrés is an asshole but what else is new! They are both terrible, really but I love them so here it goes

Martín felt the knife held to his throat before he opened his eyes to see it or Andrés hovering above him.

He tilted down his head to kiss the spot of Andrés' hand accessible to him; causing the knife to press closer.

Andrés flinched as if he had been burned. 

"Why?"

"I don't know wh-", Andrés took hold of his hair and yanked his head backwards, pressing the knife more. Martín hissed.

"Took her one night", he spat.

"You exposed me. You betrayed me"

"Never", Martín tried to shake his head, but Andrés' grip was strong. 

"You broke my house. Is this how deep your bitterness run? You're disgusting", Andrés was looking at him coldly, with nothing in his eyes. It's the look that gets to him, he can already feel his eyes stinging.

"I was protecting you", he said; breathless. "I would always protect you. She was going to leave once you got weaker; you know that. She's not worthy of you"

Andrés snickered. "Do you think I need the protection of a nothing like you?", then he started humming, grinning. "What is it that she did to you, hm? Did she hurt your little feelings?, he loosened his grip to stroke his hair in mocking affection instead. "Or maybe no, it wasn't her at all. Just as it wasn't my poor ex-wife Julia. You just couldn't stand that I wasn't as alone and miserable as you are, could you? You had to bring me along".

Martín wanted to open his mouth, but he was scared the only thing that would get out would be a hiccuped sob, so he just reverted to shaking his head fervently. Overly aware of his wet face and quivering lips. This was it, then.

Andrés let go of him and stepped backwards. The worst thing he did to him so far. Martín tried to reach out to him, touch him, but his hand was slapped away.

"Andrés, please-"

He turned and walked away. Martín watched him; helpless. Few seconds later, he could hear the front door slammed shut. The only sounds in the room now is his broken breaths.

He didn't move from his bed for hours. Near 9 am, he moved to the living room and sat still in his armchair. He wanted to go out and look for him, roam the streets like a crazy mother looking for her lost child. But Andrés wasn't lost. Andrés left him. He left him. He was repulsed by him; sickened. Driven away by disgust at last. So he just sat still. 

He couldn't think. He couldn't figure what to do now. He had driven him away. He had done this to himself. He wanted to cut his skin open, pour out the shame choking him. But he deserved it. He had caused this. He's going to lose the little time he has got with Andrés because he couldn't stop himself from ruining everything. Andrés was right, he had to be, he fooled himself into thinking he was doing what's best for Andrés, but he was acting out on pathetic jealousy. He was scared she was going to drive Andrés away from him, she intended to, Martín was sure, he noticed how she looked at him, he didn't care for her insulting hidden remarks, she couldn't hurt him by this, but he couldn't gamble with Andrés' last years. He was terrified of losing him and here he is now. Causing it himself; turning to ash anything he touched, as he always had, as if acid seeped out naturally from his skin.

Hours after he was dried out, when it was already late into the night a strange calmness overcame him. This was bound to happen; it was his nature, as disgusting as it was. 

So he did what he does best. He went out and tried to drink away Andrés' existence from his mind. Tried to drink away his shame, Andrés' dying, Andrés leaving him. He tried to drink until his mind recreated the image of the world slipping away; the way Andrés was slipping from his fingers now, in spite of anything Martín is capable of doing. Maybe he wanted to drink until he turned into liquid himself, so that he could seep into Andrés' body and eat away all that's killing him, so that he could do anything at all.

But he couldn't, so he went for dancing himself to death instead. He smiled lazily at the idea as he was dancing, _Andrés would like it_ , he thought. Andrés would find it poetic, it would remind him of the ballet they've seen together; _Le Sacre du printemps_ ; and Martín would do it; dance himself to death to appease any god; the god of spring, the god of life, the god of death, it wouldn't matter, any of them that could save Andrés. So he tries, just in case any of them is listening. He drags strangers to the dirty bathrooms too and lets himself be dragged until it's all fucked and danced out of him.

He doesn't make it home until morning. He's dreading going back. He fumbled with the key for over 5 minutes until he finally managed to get it in the keyhole.

He dragged his body inside and for the second that his head wheezes from the turning movement of his body to close the door, he thinks he hallucinated Andrés, but it turns out it is him, standing in front of the fridge, putting stuff inside. He didn't even acknowledge Martín walking in.

"You came back", Martín breathed.

"Of course I did", Andrés answered plainly, as he went on with his task, not looking at him, as if Martín was being absurd.

Martín didn't waste any time questioning anything. He couldn't feel anything but the wash of relief. He just went and pretty much threw himself at Andrés, who didn't move nor push Martín away.

"You're reeking of alcohol", he says drawing his head back, "and other stuff", he adds, distastefully.

Martín pulls himself away. 

"Go take a shower. I brought breakfast", he orders, not looking at him. Then, he shifts awkwardly, "I got you those disgusting donuts you like"

Martín possibly cries over that in the shower.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/L9qiQAw1nK4
> 
> This is the song played in the second part. I'd suggest listening to it while reading -or in general, it's very beautiful.

Andrés is..well, disturbed.

It's not just his complete unwillingness to even entertain the thought of leaving Martín -and because of something as trivial as an ex-wife-, no, he had no intention for that in the first place.

It's the fact; the truth, that he isn't even really angry at Martín; that there isn't any deep rage in him towards Martín. Not a second after he slammed the door shut and went into the city.

It's absurd that he is not. Martín interfered in his life, he exposed his secret, intentionally, well-knowing the consequences. Not a single person had ever gone away with something like that. No one was ever exempted from Andrés' response.

But the moment Andrés went out, he wanted nothing, but to go back in. To wipe Martín's tears and drink wine with him; plan the heist with him.

He walked for hours in sleeping Palermo trying to deconstruct this; understand it. There are many things he can't feel; -he has made his peace with that a long time ago- at least not as easily as others do, as easily as Martín does, but anger; rage; desire to inflict harm on those who dared to trespass on him was never one of those things. Now, there is nothing.

Well, not nothing. He's definitely feeling something at Martín looking at him like that from across the table, half-drunk and half-asleep. A look he can't decipher either.

"Don't look at me as if I'm already dead", Andrés joked.

Martín chuckled, then smiled lazily. "You're the only alive person I've ever met", he slurred, before taking a sharp breath, "You're life itself, Andrés"

Andrés gazed at him. There has been a different sort-of openness in Martín's speech lately. It didn't escape Andrés' notice before, how Martín held himself back, how he would be on the verge of uttering something and stopping right before it escaped his mouth. Now, something seems to be tearing itself out of his throat. 

Put it on the list of new disturbances.

"Since when do you keep any flowers?", Andrés asked, nodding to the vase of poppy flowers on the counter that he didn't notice before.

Martín shrugged. "A neighbour brought it when I first moved in here, to congratulate me"

Andrés raised his eyebrow. "A neighbour?"

Martín smiled. "Yes. A sweet old lady. You could use them for drawing, no? They're very pretty. You can paint a beautiful piece, like one of Van Gogh's", he leaned on his elbow on the table, "I love your colors even better"

"Well, they are poppy flowers, so it works", Andrés bit on his fingers, "I should get one of Gogh's paintings then. For practice, of course"

Martín laughed. "oh, definitely. His most beautiful one"

Andrés grinned, slyly. 

Martín raised an eyebrow, then smiled and asked. "Where is it?"

"Cairo"

"Absolutely not", Martín said, plainly. Sitting up. Smile wiped off. Andrés was still grinning.

"It's nearly august, Andrés. We would both suffocate"

"You owe me an apology"

"No", Martín stated.

  
  


They reached Cairo by August 2nd.

The heat spread its arms and welcomed its new victims into the depth of hell.

………..

Andrés could hear the music before he walked onto the terrace outside the little apartment they've rented on the last floor; they could see most of the colorful city from up there, directly in their sight is the Nile with its cruises that lit the dark blue water in all colors. It reminds Andrés' of Martín's eyes when they watch fireworks; the way all the ferocious colors arrange themselves against the blue of his eyes, making them look on fire. 

Martín was lying on the lounge in the dark, looking up at the open sky, with a cigarette in his hand while  _ Chavela Vargas's La noche de mi amor  _ played on the record player. 

Andrés walked towards him slowly, almost cautiously. Martín wasn't disturbed though; when Andrés reached his side and hovered over him, he made no reaction, he just looked up at him as if he were in the sky all night. Andrés traced his hand until he reached the cigarette and took it from him.

He took a drag. "It reminds you of Buenos Aires", he said.

Martín shrugged, then looked beyond Andrés and nodded. "Too hot. Too loud", he snickered.

Andrés smiled. "Do you miss it?"

He shifted his eyes to Andrés and didn't answer for long seconds.

"I don't know. I don't know how to describe it. It feels so distant, like those moments, that are so fleeting, uncatchable, where you sense yourself from another life; a past, ancient one"

Andrés remembers that Martín too well. He keeps remembering him more and more these days. How his hair was too long and his eyes too big for his bony face, how he walked in the city as if it belonged to him, with a strange mix of love and hate lacing every word of his as he showed Buenos Aires to Andrés. How he danced, drank and sang, lighting up the terrible, disgusting bars he insisted on taking Andrés to; like Dionysus coming down from the heavens to breathe life into his inferiors. 

"It wasn't even 10 years ago", Andrés said at last.

Martín shrugged. "It was before you", he said with the simplest sincerity.

There was an "after you" hanging in the air between them. Andrés' mind forced him to imagine it. 

Now, it isn't his 'pure narcissism' that his dear brother throws at him, but Andrés' finds it hard to imagine Martín without him. It isn't his narcissism, no, it's the simple fact; his reluctant acknowledgement of it, that he is Martín's family.

Maybe a bit of it is his narcissism, because he also doesn't want to imagine the contrary, that Martín will have another family, that he will go on living without Andrés. He feels absurdly betrayed at the thought. Maybe Martín would go back to Buenos Aires, maybe he would resume that life of his ancient self, that he would be somewhat clumsy at it at first, but will relearn to walk its roads again, that he would catch up from where he left off and then it would be this 10 years interval with Andrés that would feel ancient; from a past life. That at first he would walk those roads weighed down by grief, that he would think of Andrés then; less and less as time goes by, but Andrés won't think of him at all. 

Images flow Andrés' mind, of this Martín. Martín in his late 40s with grey in his hair, singing old Tango songs in a small, beautiful bar, with an older, deeper voice; Martín in his 50s, designing solutions for the busy roads, adding more beauty to the city in his peculiar ways; Martín building a house for himself on the outskirts of the city, but never staying there, because despite of what he'll think of old age and need of quiet, he won't stand it and would roam the city every night; Martín returning finally to that house with a nightstand that turned into more than a nightstand, and turning it into a home at last -the house won't resist him anyway, it will smell of him, will reek with his cigarettes and whisky and papers and clothes on the floor and on the couch and toothbrushes on the coffee tables that Andrés still doesn't know how they get there. His home will be filled with music and too loud jokes and endless sexual innuendos and an old Martín with all grey hair -that he won't dye because he'll think he looks even hotter with it-, but his eyes will remain the same. 

He wants to wipe off Buenos Aires and the whole of Argentina off the face of the earth and with it the pain in his chest now. Andrés realizes that he's grieving this Martín, the one after him, the one he won't know, will never get the chance to know, but he doesn't allow it to continue. He has no right to, no; he's the one who's leaving.

So he just lays beside Martín; grateful for the darkness that is probably obscuring his face and eyes, and tries to lose himself to the melancholic melody of the song and of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.google.com/search?q=van+gogh+poppy+flowers&oq=van+ghoh+popp&aqs=chrome.1.69i57j0i13i457j0i13l2j0i22i30.4312j0j9&client=ms-android-oppo&sourceid=chrome-mobile&ie=UTF-8#imgrc=xys_IzAM4lorXM
> 
> This is the Van Ghoh painting. It was actually stolen from Cairo in 2010 and is still not to be found. 
> 
> I'm just giving all my favourite real art heists to those two fictional bastards, sue me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I updating at 3 am? Why, yes, I am

A spiral of different languages swam around them in the yellowish landscape and sizzling heat, which only redeeming quality was its effect on Andrés. He gleamed under the sun, seemingly unbothered by it, lost in the pieces of culture around them, his eyes focused in a timeless manner as if he were standing among the Ancient Egyptians, watching them build, and not among smelling tourists screaming idiotic comments. He was standing there as if all of this was only build thousands of years ago so that Andrés might wander off someday and witness it. As far as Martín’s concerned, it might as well have been.

Martín loves watching Andrés when he’s like that, with glistening skin and glimmering eyes, as if the fire inside his body can’t contain itself anymore and is leaking out.

Martín is watching him take it all in and waiting for the speech to come.

“It’s brilliant”, is the only thing to come out of Andrés’ mouth, shaking his head slightly.

“It’s brilliant architecture, yes. I’m sure if I spend enough time, I can figure out how they did it all though”, Andrés chuckled, turning to him, “But” Martín accentuated, “There’s more important stuff to figure out now, no?”, he smirked at Andrés.

“It’s very curious, don’t you think?” Martín could see that it wasn’t the architecture and techniques that captured him.

“How obsessed with death they were?”, he suggested.

Andrés shook his head softly, a smile growing on his face. “How obsessed with life”

“Dead bodies are dead bodies”, even to Martín’s ears, it’s laced with more bitterness than he intended. “To build all of that”, he strained his neck up, “just to keep a dead body and some belongings. It’s a bad investment is what it is. I’m sure if their souls are anywhere, they’d probably be in some hell they haven’t imagined. None of this would save them”

“A pathetic, bad investment”, Andrés repeated slowly, “Is that what you really think?”, he asked, turning to fully look at Martín; looking through him, that is.

_ Yes, _ Martín wanted to say,  _ But I would do it for you. I would build a hundred pyramids like this. I would carry each stone myself, I would spend the rest of my life in this scorching heat until the skin on my hands wears off. I would do it all if I could buy your immortality; if I could trap your life and death. _

But Martín won’t build a pyramid for Andrés, he’s going to take one apart. He’s not a creator; this is beyond his nature, beyond what his hands were made for, but he is a destroyer. He smiled to himself, there’s as much beauty in destruction as there is in creation.

“Well”, he handed Andrés a cold bottle of water and crossed his arms, “Not a terrible investment. They’re getting a shit-ton of money from tourism because of it”, he chuckled.

Andrés took a sip from the water and laughed. “Now, you’re being a pain in the ass on purpose”, he shifted and looked around him, gesturing at everything, “They didn’t do it to save their souls. Those men were gods, Martín; there is no salvation for the gods, it was immortality they were after; somewhere deep inside they knew what real immortality was and they strived for it”, his lips turned in a slow smile, “And here they are”, he half-whispered.

Martín understood that too well. He smiled at the golden creations around them. 

He was going to immortalize Andrés. He was going to immortalize them both.

…….

Martín leaned against the wall, holding the frame as Andrés was taking his time cutting the painting off carefully. He didn’t even need to disable the alarm on the painting, it wasn’t working in the first place, as well as over 30 of the security cameras. No security guard was even near the room, they were all away breaking their fast. It was a lucky coincidence that they came during Ramadan, it created all the perfect circumstances for them. It was laughable really, the museum was begging to be robbed. Andrés was even disappointed at the lack of challenge.

“We could take more. There’s a lot of cool stuff here and they’re right under our fingertips”

Andrés laughed softly, not taking his eyes off the painting. “Now, don’t be greedy. There are ethics in our job. We came only for this and we should only leave with it”

Martín rolled his eyes. 

“Let’s not go home right away”

“No?” Andrés asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go to Paris as you said. We could pull up a big diamonds robbery there. We still need a lot of money for the gold heist”, Andrés hummed, he continued “We wasted a lot of time here”, Andrés turned to him, his face turning sour.

“We didn’t waste any time”, he said, looking sternly at him. “Didn't enjoy yourself here? I know you enjoyed that boy”

“I did. And he was not a boy, Andrés, God, you make me sound like a fucking pedophile”

“It’s not a race, Martín. You’re becoming worse than Sergio, what? Do I need to teach how to enjoy life, now? he carried the painting carefully and came down from the sofa, Martín following him.

He did teach him; in more than one way.

Both are filled with passion for the world and its beauty. But Andrés knows how to taste it all, how to chew it until he gets to the last ingredient, while Martín only knew how to devour and digest.

He learned from Andrés how to spend hours reading a short poem; how to let it slowly get around his skin, like a devouring snake, how to taste wine; to let it sit in his mouth until he could taste all the colors that went into its making, to look at a painting until his eyes could see the rest of the universe colored by its painter and  _ then _ he would  _ truly _ have him.

He learned all of it the painful way too, how to love a body beyond the immediate pleasure it brought him. He might never taste this pleasure from Andrés, but he knows how soft the skin around his nails is when he’d just cut his nails for him, if he could do paintings, he would know how to only fill them with all the shades of black and brown of his eyes and how beautiful and full of life they’d be. He doesn’t know how his tongue would feel in his mouth, but he learned the music it forms when he laughs and it ticks against the upper roof of his mouth, how it licks a small spot on his bottom lip when he’s focused, making it glisten in contrast, he watches him swim under the moonlight, how his body turns into a marble moon itself; retracting its light.

Andrés taught him everything, in more than one way. It’s not fair that he’s the one that time is stolen from, instead of Martín. He heard somewhere, in a version of the biblical story, that Adam saw the beauty of Joseph and gave him 50 years from his 1000 years. How Martín wishes he had that choice.

“That’s not what I meant. I just know that you would rather sell a kidney than a painting, even if it’s one that costs $50 million”

Andrés rolled his eyes. “Oh, will you shut up about this? Will you sell this man’s suffering for $50 million? Will you sell the beauty that equally saved and doomed him for $50 million?”

“Hmm, you’re right”, Andrés stopped and raised an eyebrow, “I’d negotiate for $55”, Andrés smacked him on the head.    
  


Martín laid on his back, nipping on the cluster of grapes he held above his mouth, with Andrés relaxing against his legs. They had the tv open, waiting for the news on the Italian couple they’d sneaked a duplicate of the painting into their baggage. They wouldn’t buy it for long, but it would distract them for long enough for Andrés and Martín to leave with the actual painting. 

They laughed their heart out at the authority’s assurance that they managed to find the stolen painting only after two days. Martín also left clusters of false clues that insiders, including the minister himself, have been involved. Dogfighting rings have always amused Andrés.

They bid their goodbyes to the city and left for Paris. Europe opened its arms for them, and they entered laughing, celebratory. Like a cat coming back to its owner's door holding dead rats between its teeth. The poetic irony of giving Gogh a ride in his home country before leaving with them again doesn't escape Martín either. He says something of the like to Andrés and he laughs and tells Martín a story.

One that he can't bring himself to remember now, driving out of the country. He has been driving for hours, but he feels out of breath as if he were still running. He tries to remember the story, tries to remember the planning, the outlines and the blue prints, tries to remember the robbery itself. Tries to remember at which point it went wrong, what part of it was flawed, but he can't.

All he gets is bits and pieces. Andrés asking him to stop, that this is more than enough, Andrés ordering him to stop, his eyes darkening, Andrés shouting at him that it's enough, that they need to leave. Martín still thinking that it isn't enough, that they still need more, much more than a bunch of diamonds to make it work. It was the only thing playing in his head, drawing even Andrés' voice. He remembers Andrés pushing him back, both of his hands on Martín's chest and Martín realizing that it is too late.

He doesn't know the sequence of what happened next, how Andrés was suddenly with the police, drawing them away from Martín and the diamonds, his speech with the police, which in between he reminded, no, ordered Martín to leave, find Sergio.

And Martín knows that it's the right thing to do. They talked about it a hundred times, the first thing Andrés told him when they started stealing together rather than separately, that one of them should always,  _ always _ get out. No matter what happens, one has to leave. It's the first and most important rule.

Still, this time, it feels completely wrong, it's all Martín's fault, there was no way to distract the cops, no way to downplay it this time. They stole too much, they took to many diamonds.

It takes him many more hours to reach Sergio. 

He got out of the car, and sprinted to the door. 

"Sergio. SERGIO. Hijo de puta, open the fucking door", he does, in his pajamas. His pajamas never fail to make Martín laugh, but it doesn't bring anything out of him now.

"It's Andrés", Sergio's face fails.

"No. No. What the fuck? He's alive. He got caught. By the french police. Move aside, let me in"

Sergio moves and follows him into his house.

"You got my brother caught. I can't say I didn't expect it"

"You have to help him. We have to get him out right away", Martín couldn't sit, he couldn't stand still.

"I can't do anything now. I'll have to wait until it's all settled down and some more. To plan it right, so that I don't appear in the picture"

"You'll let him rot in prison, you fucking bastard. We can't waste ti-," he bit his tongue, "I don't need your help, I'll get him out myself", Martín moved to get out, but Sergio blocked him.

"Sit down. You can't be hasty with things like these, Martín. It's very easy for it all to turn against you in a second. Let him deal with it for now, we don't want the rest of the robberies to get associated with him"

Martín was looking for some alcohol, but he has no idea where this asshole keeps his shit.

"Van Gogh. That was you, wasn't it? You couldn't even wait for 10 days between the robberies"

"They are in two different fucking continents, Sergio. What's wrong with that?"

"Million things are wrong with it", Sergio shouted. "You're getting lazy. You think you're invincible, uncatchable" he took a sharp breath. "What went wrong? Tomorrow morning you'll tell me all the details. For now, I want to know whose fault was it", he was standing straight, his hands behind his back. His whole demeanor changed and his words might as well have been "Tell me that it was your fault. Say it" 

So Martín did. "Mine"

Sergio nodded, looking around him, then took off his glasses, wiped them and put them back on.

"I'll help him. I'll do all I could to get him out. I will get him out", he stated and Martín was nodding frantically. "On one condition"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought this chapter would be like 400 words. I have no idea what happened, but anyway I hope you guys enjoy it. Don't hesitate to let me know what you think. I love hearing your feedbacks.

Andrés is fine. He really is.

He’s bored, despite the overall luxuriousness of the prison. He is still painfully aware that he isn’t free to do whatever he wanted, the knowledge that he couldn’t just walk out whenever he wants is itching at his skin. And he is worried. He doesn’t know how much the police know about him, how much they got about Martín too. He gave him enough time to run but they know someone was with him and they are determined to get out who he was; to retrieve the diamonds at least. They are even using his cellmate to get out information in the disguise of asking casually about friends and family.

But Martín was smart about it, he didn’t visit him even once; he missed him, missed having an intelligent conversation. Those 7 months are perhaps the longest he has been apart from him in all these years. He hopes that at least he’s still planning for the heist from outside.

As for Andrés, he’s using his time well. It’s a good opportunity, really. He’s observing everything as well as he could, the guards; their strengths and weakness, the inmates too. There will come a time where they’ll have to recruit people for their bank heist and this prison does hold some professional criminals of all kinds. He was taking notes, getting as much information as he could and there are great candidates.

But he was getting fed up. He can’t stand the disgusting clothes, the plain food, his repulsive perve of a cellmate. One time, in the beginning, Andrés caught him trying to touch him when he was asleep, he had nothing to stab him with so he broke both of his arms. The man kept repeating that he slipped and got them broken himself, no wonder terrified of what Andrés would do to him (his penis, precisely, as Andrés specified) if he said anything or tried anything again. He wonders if Martín would have gone along with it, but he reached that he was too disgusting for Martín’s taste. But there other males he took notice of that Martín would have probably liked. He could tell which ones Martín would go for. Maybe he should have let him get into prison instead of him, he would have definitely enjoyed it more. 

Nevertheless, he misses everything outside; the finer things in life he’s used to; the wine, traveling, women. He’ll have to move to Italy, to make up for all of this when he gets out. And it’ll be soon, he knows. knowing Sergio, he was probably just taking his time doing his favorite thing in life: digging up a tunnel.

It doesn’t take long before he’s proven right. He wakes up in the middle of the night to a Russian man politely asking him to go with him. The guard and cellmate are drugged professionally.

He goes through the tunnel with the man. He’s somewhat disappointed, he wanted a familiar face, Sergio or Martín’s, but he decides he likes the guy. He’s professional, concise and quiet, respectful, and quick. When they get in the van, he hands Andrés a suit and leaves him to change in the back. God, Andrés can finally fucking breathe.

After a while, he stops in a rural place he doesn’t recognize where he can see a motorcycle on the side, this Andrés can recognize.

The Russian nods at Andrés and Andrés gets out and drives to Sergio’s place, as the van drives in the opposite direction.

He enjoys the cold air, the freedom of riding at high speed, the quiet night.

When he gets there, Sergio is standing outside, waiting for him, a displeased look on his face, and arms crossed. Like a scolding mother ordering her child to stop playing and come inside right this very second.

Andrés gets off and walks to him, not even trying to suppress the smile taking over his face.

“Hermanito”, he opens his arms for Sergio, who walks right into them, holding Andrés back tightly. He ruffles his hair until he can sense his smile on his neck.

“Let’s get inside, I hope you made breakfast”

Sergio had. Andrés wishes he had eaten at the prison before he left.

They both sat in the kitchen with their coffee. Andrés leaned back in his chair, enjoying the breeze coming from the window with the faint sunlight filling the kitchen.

“That was a relatively small tunnel, don’t you think?”, Andrés said, taking a sip from his coffee, breaking the silence that made itself comfortable between them.

Sergio adjusted his glasses, averting his gaze. “It did the job”

“It definitely did. But you know that’s not what I mean. You’ve dug bigger ones in way less time. You left me there intentionally”, he said plainly, fidgeting with his mug, looking straight at him.

Sergio met his eyes and fixed his gaze. “Do you expect me to come rushing to clean your mess?”

“It was a punishment”

“Yes”

“And dare I ask, for what exactly, my dear brother?”

“For getting caught, for allowing it to happen. You get caught, you serve your time. It’s fair, no?” 

Andrés didn’t say anything, he just stared at Sergio. Let him speak his mind, he wasn’t done.

“7 months isn’t so cruel after all. It’s not too much, but enough to think about your mistake; about what got you there in the first place”

Andrés hummed, forcing a smile. 

“About who got you there”, Sergio added, plainly.

“Here it is”

"Don't lie to me. You know that it was his fault. It's always his fault"

"What makes you so sure that it wasn't mine? What makes you so sure that it was anyone's fault in the first place? Things go wrong sometimes, Sergio and you can't always blame it on someone. This is the nature of our job, I shouldn't have to explain it to you, but here I am because you're locking yourself up here with your books and your theories and you have no idea how real-life operates, what it's actually like out there, how much you can't control”

“He admitted that it was his fault, Andrés. You can’t defend him”, Sergio said simply.

“Martín would admit to the assassination of princess Diana if you pressure him with enough guilt, Sergio. For fuck’s sake”, Andrés shouted.

“And” Sergio went on as if Andrés hadn’t said anything. “I already dealt with him. You don’t have to do anything. He agreed to leave you be” 

Andrés buried his face in his hand, clutching at his hair then he started laughing. 

“Agreed to leave me? This is Martín we’re talking about?”, he went on laughing. “What did you do exactly? Bribe him with money? Did you beat him up and tell him that if he approached your brother again, you’ll go straight to his parents? Please do tell me, Sergio, what exactly do you think you did here?”

Andrés knows exactly what he did. Martín wouldn’t have left if Sergio had even threatened to expose him; to give him in. That wouldn’t scare him. The only thing that would, is letting him, Andrés, rot inside; that Sergio would stand in the way of getting him out, even exposing his connection to the other robberies. It’s not beneath Sergio to manipulate him like this. Nothing is beneath Sergio getting what he wants.

Sergio got up and started shaking his head frantically, pacing around. “You don’t see it, do you? You’re blinded, you can’t see how dangerous he is. He got you caught this time, next time he’ll get you killed. He’s pulling you along with his crazy plan, and when it all goes to hell, which it will, he’ll let it crumble on  _ your  _ head and get away himself because that’s who he is. He’s an egomaniac, narcissist who has no regards for anyone or anything but himself”

It’s too early for this. Andrés sighs. “Now when have I heard this before?”, Andrés hummed, looking at the ceiling and fake biting at his finger.

“You’re my brother, I’ll always accept you and I trust you with my life, but him," he breathed closing his eyes, “He’s worse than you, Andrés. He heightens your..”, he starts gesturing, “traits. You think you’re invincible with him, you two think that you can get away with anything. And you start getting careless. But you can’t. You won’t and  _ you  _ will be the one who pays for it and it’ll be a much bigger, worse payment than 7 months in prison”, he stops and takes a sharp breath.  “I’m giving you a way out. Working with him is dangerous. His plan is dangerous and you’re infatuated with it”

Andrés stands up and smoothes his clothes, then he approached Sergio, walking slowly until they’re face to face. 

“You’re a hypocrite, brother. You detest him because he outsmarted you, because he, on his own, came up with a far more brilliant plan that you could come up with. Because you’ll never create anything that’s bigger than it”

They stare at each other for a tad too long. Both breathing hard, head to head. Sergio has nothing to say to this.

Andrés starts walking towards the cupboard, rummaging for the car keys and a fake identity card and papers. 

“Andrés”, Sergio starts

“Sergio”, he warns, not looking back at him.

“You escaped prison hours ago and now you’re what? Driving to Italy? What is going on with you? When have you turned into this?”

Andrés stood still, his back to him. He closed his eyes, took a breath, then turned to him. 

“I’ll wait for a few days, but I _ am  _ going to him, Sergio”

“He’s a tumor, Andrés ”, God, he won’t fucking stop.

“I won’t hear more of it, little brother” he finalized, walking upstairs.

He takes a long shower, scrubbing until he gets all the prison smell off his body, and takes a long nap.

When he wakes up, Sergio has cooked what was his attempt at Andrés’ favorite meal. Andrés decides to show his sign of goodwill, too. 

“Show me how far you’ve gone with father’s plan”

Sergio smiles, in the way he used to when he was a kid and Andrés asked him to tell him about the latest book he read, then runs to grab the files.

“I didn’t plan how to exactly get in yet, I have a few ways in mind that I’ll weigh against each other first. I’ll start the exit tunnel by the beginning of next year and I know all the roles, how many people I’ll need, what type too”, he starts getting a different file, with profiles, “Those are the candidates”

Andrés grabs them, starts looking. “This is my main candidate for printing. By far, the most important role”

“A woman?”, Andrés raises his eyebrows.

“She’s brilliant”, Sergio shook his head, “Her falsifications are spotless, there’s no better than her in the field”

“And she’s a single mother of a three-year-old. I’m sure that’s a great quality to have. I'd love to babysit him when his mother is busy printing the money”, Andrés said; deadpan.

Sergio adjusted his glasses, looking at the profile. “It’s not a problem anymore. She has nothing to lose, quite the contrary” 

Andrés laughs. “Hmm. I’m sure you’ve had absolutely nothing to do with it”

Sergio throws him a look, then moves to the next profile. 

“Sergio, Sergio. Don’t you think it’s a little too early for this? These people might be dead by the time you start the heist”

“They’re just candidates. There are second and third and fourth and fifth replacements for every single one of them. It’s important to study them early, to see how they work. Anyway, check this couple”

“What about your no personal relationships rule?”

“This one is different. They have been working together for years and their work is good, really good and they seem to really balance each other out. The girl, Silene, is a little reckless, but he seems to anticipate her recklessness before she does and handles it well. I won’t get him without her, that seems to be his only weakness, absolute loyalty, but from what I’ve seen, he can handle her. They’re both fearless. She’s paranoid, reacts to dangerous moves before they happen, that’s a problem, but a good quality for when they do happen. She’s a quick, good soldier, her boyfriend can make sure she reacts in the right way, I’ve seen it, and the inside leader will control it too.”

Andrés nods. He decides he doesn’t want this couple. But this isn’t the time. They study the others late into the night. And for the rest of the week too. Sergio showing him everything in excitement. They fall easily into their rhythm, all their differences and apprehension from the other put aside.

Andrés still leaves, as he said. Their plan needs work too.

The drive is pleasant, much needed after his time locked up. He smiles at the smell of Italy. He should have moved here years ago. Nothing brings warmth to his heart as this country, but well, not Sicily, something a bit more civilized.

He still smiles, in spite of himself, at Sicily too. It’s beautiful and wild. And it has Martín.

It scares him how much he has missed him if he’s being honest with himself. if he thinks about it for too long, he can physically feel his absence. He can feel his absence around him too as if the air itself knows that Martín should be there and doesn’t know how to arrange itself with the lack.

He reached the building and went upstairs. He can hear the faint music from his apartment before he even reached it. He got out the key and opened the door. There’s a nice, clean smell coming from the apartment as soon as he pushed the door.

On the opposite side from him, Martín was setting, clean-shaven and dressed, reading a book,  _ In Search of Lost Time, _ Andrés recognizes it, he has given it to him and Martín joked whether he should use it as a bullet-proof shield, but from where Andrés can see the way Martín is holding the book, he’s near the end (He has to ask him whether he has been reading it for the past 7 months), with a glass of whisky in front of him. 

He looks up, with no alertness, the instant Andrés pushes the door open and slowly, tentatively smiles at him. Andrés mirrors him, approaching him.

Martín puts the book aside and gets up. “Wine?”

Andrés lets out a breathless, short laugh. “Always”

  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

Ever since Martín met Andrés, ever since he followed him to Spain, he had the feeling, like reality in his mind, that he invited the wolf into the ballroom and had let him play on the grand piano; a song made for Martín.

Nevermind that it felt inevitable too, that the wolf was waiting for him since the moment before he was born, as he waited for the girl in red, as when it was time, it came to Martín's door and Martín never for once thought about not letting it in, he has always known his choice, the song was too sweet, too beautiful to sacrifice. 

Nevermind that Martín could never recognize the wolf's face, could never tell what it really is.

Nevermind that no matter how hard Martín tried to glimpse his own reflection in the wolf's eyes, he never could.

The song was his and he bared his own fangs to show it.  
  
  


Martín grabbed a chair and put it in the middle of the living room, rushing Andrés to sit on it. He moved to pour wine into his glass and handed it to him.

“Are you gonna perform a play?”, Andrés snickered, although Martín could see the anticipation glimmering in his eyes.

“Oh, yes. One that you’re gonna love more than any Shakespeare or Lorca, trust me”, Martín took off the white sheet to show the model airship he attached to the ceiling.

“Well, you have a great stage set designer, I’ll give you that”, he sipped from his wine then put it on the floor, leaning forward.

Martín took his sweet time walking over and then around Andrés. Andrés’ eyes fixated on him, following him around the room. He crouched down behind the chair, hands on its back. He pointed his gaze on the model, illuminated by the sunlight filling the room. He can already see it illuminated by another sunlight in another city, far from here.

“You and I already knew that to enter, we need to create havoc on the whole city. Unleash absolute chaos, but I say, it’s better to let them create it themselves”, Andrés leaned back in the chair, to see better Martín’s face on his side and turned to him, furrowed brows and eyes focused, silent in the way he only is when it’s Martín talking.

Martín slowly grinned at him then stood up and walked to the model. He grabbed the remote control and clicked. The model started moving slowly, rotating around the room, Andrés following it with his eyes. Waiting.

Martín clicked another button and the model opened as it rotated, the paper money Martín colored by hand started falling out of it slowly. Andrés stood up, looking up at it; eyes glinting, then threw his head back laughing when the model rotated above his head and the papers showered him.

“It’ll transform them back to what they essentially are; animals, the whole city will transform into a zoo of greedy wild beasts, snarling at each other and the government”, Andrés said slowly.

Martín walked over to him. “Exactly. And we won’t be the villains of the story once we do that. When we’re in the bank, they’ll be outside screaming for us. When it’s all over, the system will try to erase our faces and names from all memory, for their embarrassment, for the fear of inspiration, but they, they’ll immortalize us. Whatever happens inside will be forgiven”

Andrés nodded at him, grinning. “Sergio had some effect on you, hm?”

Martín stopped the model after it hit the fridge. “Well, he’s not wrong. But this isn’t just distant public support for the underdog, fellow oppressed men. They’ll feel apart of it, with the hope that we’ll give them more”

“They’ll send the civil guards to all important buildings in the city, especially the bank”, Andrés pondered, “We’ll be the ones enforcing the law, protecting the city?”, he asked with a snicker.

“You got it. But it won’t be the civil guards or the police. When a city transforms into a zoo, they’ll always resort to the army. I know this well. It’ll be even more perfect for us. It’ll provoke the people, the imagery is too strong.”

“And we’ll be able to get all the information we want, served to us on a silver plate”, Andrés smiled at Martín, “God, you’re brilliant”, he shook his head, grinning.

Martín could feel the heat reaching his face, his heart beating faster. He walked away, smiling.

“As pretty as your little model is, we’ll need a bigger place to plan the rest of the heist. To start planning it right”

“In Italy? You want to move here?”, Martín turned to him, a small grin taking over his face.

“You know I have always loved this country, a plan this beautiful needs a place of equal beauty, no?” Andrés walked to the couch and laid on it, leaning his head back on his folded arms. “What do you think about Florence?”

“Well, it’s no Sicily, but it’ll do”, Martín shrugged and had a pillow thrown in his face.

“Do you want me to cook or to eat out tonight?”, Martín leaned against the wall in front of Andrés.

“Let’s stay in tonight, I’m tired”

“Okay, I’ll make you Caponata”, Martín said.

Andrés nodded, taking a note from the floor “Clean this mess first”

Martín laughed. “You’re a useless, useless old man, do you know that? You should pull your weight in this house”

He leaned his head further back and laughed. “I will, by teaching you how to color. You’re completely outside of line here, shame on you”

“Oh, I won’t recreate the experience of you teaching me how to paint again, no, no señor. I have self-respect”

“You had potential”, Andrés shrugged, smiling widely.

“Is that so, I seem to remember an extremely rude man telling me my people look like buildings”, Martín went to the couch, carried Andrés’ legs, sat, then put them back on his lap.

“They are. People aren’t all harsh lines, Martín”, he sat up, moving closer to Martín. “Stand up”

He did. Andrés positioned him right in front of him, while he was still sitting. “Look”, to Martín’s bafflement, he started unbuttoning Martín’s shirt, slowly. He couldn’t dare breathe let move a muscle, he felt instantly transformed into a status, as if Andrés was the man with the Golden Touch, a status with a beating heart, that he was becoming more and more aware of.

Andrés finished opening the shirt but didn’t take it off Martín. He only traced his finger over his visible chest, moving to his collarbones, then lightly touching the hollow in his throat “see?” he whispered, with a small grin. “You have to get the curves, the soft and harsh ones both”, with his other hand he reached for his side, a bit over his hips, getting the shirt back a little. “The way the skin dresses the muscles, you have to capture this movement, the contractions, in still picture, so that it breathes with life” he moved his fingers from his collarbones to his neck, tracing with a featherlight touch, “The way breath is captured in the throat, in the way in or out, like that” he closed his fingers around Martín’s throat, loosely. “Then you’ll have to decide whether they’re prisoners of the painting or it gives them freedom. Your decision makes all the difference, it’s the true color that will paint it”.

Martín could only nod, still unable to breathe even after Andrés drew his hand back and looked up at him, with an indecipherable look. He quickly moved away, ready to make a joke, a sarcastic comment, some profound statement on art, anything at all to break the tension that could eat him up and spit away the bones. But Andrés moved first. He stood up and walked towards the room.

“I’ll take a shower while you cook”, he said, not turning to look at Martín and sped over to the room. He stood there, frozen, for minutes before snapping himself out of it and walking to the kitchen.

He was nearly done when Andrés walked into the kitchen with a bottle of white wine and put it on the table, then moved silently to get the plates. Martín filled them and sat down in front of him.

After moments of peaceful silence. Martín spoke up.

“I should have served instead of you. It was my fault”, he said, fidgeting with his fork.

Andrés took a sip from his wine. “Get Sergio’s voice out of your mind. It won’t do you any good”

“He’s not wrong though”

“He is. He doesn't understand-", he took a sharp breath, "he doesn't understand anything" 

Martín wanted to throw the plate at his beautiful face and ask, demand it spoken. _What is it that he doesn't understand. Say it you fucking coward,_ but it turns Martín is the true coward and he doesn't say anything. Andrés interrupted his train of thoughts, "Look, would you have done it for me?"

“What?”

“Would you have done it for me?”

“Of course, I would. You know I would”, Martín said quickly, no hesitation, incredulous that Andrès would even ask.

“Then why can’t you accept that I would do the same for you. I don’t regret it. Now eat”, ge finalized.

Martín smiled tentatively and Andrés mirrored him. They talked about moving to Florence right away, staying in a hotel while looking for a place, to not waste any time, while they ate.

And once in Florence, they talked about nothing but the plan. It was unlike any work they have done before, not just in its own sheer magnitude, but the way it brought them together. It was a shared creation, something that both elevated them and alienated them from everyone else. Martín had the sense sometimes, when he first told it to Andrés, when he worked on it alone while Andrés was in his honeymoon -the first time that something seemed to fill the cracks in his heart, there was no pain in the moments his spent with it-, or when he worked on it when Andrés was in prison, he had the sense that he was recreating the whole process of falling for Andrés again but with the plan, it felt like it. The only time he felt something akin to what he felt for Andrés with something else. Only that it isn't different, not really. The plan is Andrés. And it's him. It's both of them embodied outside their bodies and minds, forever intertwined, as they should be.   
  
  


"Martín. Wake up. Wake up. You have to see this, get dressed", he opened his eyes to Andrés rummaging through his clothes and choosing something for him. He should be annoyed, the way he usually is when that bastard wakes him up that early, but he could only smile lazily at Andrés' childishness; barely contained enthusiasm, that only ever came out safely with Martín, with none of the pretences he held himself to with everyone else. 

"Wear this. You look nice in white", he pulled a shirt and put it for him.

"I would still look nice in white in the afternoon, Andrés. When did you even wake up?", he shifted and buried his face in the pillow.

He shifted and buried his face in the leather car seat. Andrés nudged him. "We're here"

Martín opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight was too strong, but after seconds he could see clearly. A monastery. Stunning amidst the landscape.

Andrés had gotten out of the car. Martín followed him. He stood beside him, both staring ahead. Then Andrés turned his head towards Martín, and grinned slowly.

"Welcome to your new home"

Martín was breathless. The wolf shifted comfortably in his chair, then raised his eyes and met Martín's. Expressionless.

"It'll have to be restored, and made accomdating for us"

"The monks?"

"Don't worry about them"

And Martín didn't. Not when he hanged the plans in the kitchen for him and Andrés to work on while cooking, cleaning the dishes, eating, snacking at 2 am, drinking wine before the sun came out, or smoking while lying on the counter. They were there nearly during the entire renovation, watched it grow in beauty, gain back its faded colors, and swallow parts of Martín and Andrés in it.

Andrés peeled an orange and handed a segment to Martín, while they were enjoying the shade under a tree, with a blanket huddled over both of them.

Andrés leaned back and closed his eyes. "Don't go out tomorrow night. I'm bringing someone important, I want you to meet her"

Perhaps it was the monastery or the plan everywhere inside, but Martín only felt a twinge of pain, one that he could drown out in the bitterness of the fruit between his teeth. He leaned back beside him, closed his eyes too, and smiled to himself when he felt Andrés' head on his shoulder. 

He knows now that he has Andrés. Whatever part Tatiana will take ,or already took, makes no difference. Like the rest she'll come and she'll leave. Andrés will never love him, but he has fallen in love with the plan and it's a love Martín could see is different from anything that he had with those women. So he lets himself enjoy her company, her humor, her intelligence. Even the slight betrayel, that felt like a stab wound, when Andrés told her the plan, _his_ plan, _their_ plan, on the dinner table with Martín right there will heal, or it won't. Bleeding has never been an issue for him, he found it soothing sometimes, the feeling of blood oozing out of his body, the beauty of it swallows the pain of the wound itself, sometimes it feels like it's not even there, only the bleeding is.

He meets with them in Europe, every couple of countries, then comes back to the monastery and sleeps in the chapel amidst his papers and calculations. 

Andrés comes back, but Tatiana never stays in the monastery with them for long. She just leaves to her own home. He's still the one who shares Andrés' bed.

The bed Andrés was sitting up on now as Martín injects his hand. He learned how to cause him nearly no pain, his touch light as could be. He held his hand to his mouth and kissed the spot where he injected it. Soothing it with his thumb afterwards. 

"I'm starting to look like my mother. It's strange, as if she had taken over my body from the inside out and is now emerging from within", he said, eyes closed, leaning against the headboard. Letting himself be honest in the rare moments that the quiet of the monastery, the darkness of the night, and the shared breath between them brings. Martín let him continue.

"She was an extraordinary woman. I couldn't recognize her in her last days, not her voice, not her face, not the way she walked when she could still walk. Nothing at all"

Martín moved closer to him and huddled as close as he could, then put his head on Andrés shoulder and whispered, as he looked far ahead. "Don't worry about that. You don't have to. Not at all"

It took Andrés a moment then he nodded, leaning his head on top of Martín's. "Sergio is coming tomorrow. The plan is nearly perfect now. Play nice"

Martín chuckled and let sleep draw away the dread filling him.


	18. Chapter 18

Andrés never shied away from his own contradictions. He was disgusted by those who did, those who couldn’t face their own humanity with all its conflictions, those who strived, unsuccessfully of creating a consistent narrative of their lives.

This is why now, he can’t deny that inviting Sergio has been both his biggest mistake and their salvation.

He can’t deny to Sergio’s face the insistent urge he had since the monastery to get his brother involved. It’s true that this would to be the biggest job of his life, his Magnum Opus and he simply wanted his dear brother alongside him. But there was always something else that he couldn’t name.

He recognizes it now, while repeatedly stabbing the pig. He understands now that some part within him was calling out for his brother, with his sharpness and clarity, to come to break the spell Andrés was engulfed in. Martín’s spell, the plan’s spell. The twisted, lovely, annihilating, feracious tale they were weaving around them. One that nearly cost him Martín. 

Martín who Andrés was sure was fighting with teeth and nails for their plan outside. He’s pleasantly surprised to discover that he did manage to win Sergio, he can’t suppress the pride that flows through him, despite everything, of Martín’s persistence, his tenacity, and relentlessness.

And in spite of his anger, he understands, even if he doesn’t accept, his brother’s ruthlessness in doing what he had to do, with his own motivations to gain Andrés back for his father’s plan. He must have known the poison he was staining their relationship with when he uttered what was never supposed to be spoken into reality, his checkmate move to ensure nothing can be ignored or danced around anymore. It was all now bare and ugly for all to see.

His agreement to go with the plan with them now doesn’t matter. He knows that what he has done, what he has said, cannot be reversed. It was now a matter of time and Andrés’ forced hands were inevitably going to act.

Out of respect for the fight in Martín, maybe too out of his own reluctance to end it so soon, he amuses the game some more, in homage for their history, the life they’ve led together, and the creation between them. He goes home with them and discusses the necessity of killing Gandia, Gandia who he will never crossroads with again.

He needs the time, those few days he gives himself, to mourn. He watches the sparkle in Martín’s eyes, the excitement pouring out of his moving hands as he writes on the board, the elegance in his movements, the delicacy of his features; his brilliance and beauty. There’s no time to amuse the panic tearing his insides apart, of all the missed opportunities, of the running-out time. He tries to ignore the wretched pain of witnessing the security in Martín, of knowing he’ll tear it and everything else out of his fists.

When Sergio persistently brings out the question of how they’ll get out of the bank, Martín shrugs it away and mutters something about coming back to this later, then he turns with a smile to Andrés, waiting for affirmation. One that Andrés doesn’t and can’t give, not with words or gestures. Martín studies him suspiciously for seconds, but Andrés starts saying something about the hostages, and both Sergio and Martín’s attention is shifted.

One of those few nights, when Sergio and Martín had already gone to bed, he goes to the kitchen and looks at all the papers hung on the four walls, his and Martín’s handwriting entangled together on the blackboard, the messy drawing of the interconnected chamber Martín did on the tiles, the little toys gathered beside the coffeepot. Martín’s engineering books on the microwave, unfinished bottles of vodka, and empty packs of cigarettes left on the counter. The smell of chalk and ink shadowing the kitchen. He allows himself to let go, just this once, he makes himself a cup of tea and lets his tears mix with the water.

In the morning, he finds Martín already awake and he decides to not wake Sergio up. He makes them breakfast that Martín and he share in the kitchen together.  _ The last one _ , he realizes. He laughs with him as they eat and lets his eyes linger. Martín looks the Healthiest, the happiest he has been in years. There’s color in his face, he had gained most of the weight that he kept losing and gaining for years, the most stable his health has been. He moved around with easiness, singing, and dancing.  _ Radiant _ . He stands up and puts on some music.

“Come, dance with me”, Martín responds with a wonderful smile and walks to him. He brings him closer until he can wrap one arm around his waist and their chests are heaving up and down in the same rhythm. They sway lazily for a while, illuminated by the sunlight filling the kitchen, Martín’s hair shinning with a golden radiance. He rests his head on top of his and laughs wholeheartedly when he smells his own shampoo.

Martín leans back a little and asks with a smirk and a glint in his eyes, “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just-”, he takes a sharp breath, “It’s all perfect”, he forces it out of his throat.

Martín gazes at him for a long moment, he doesn’t dare look away. “It  _ is _ ”, he accentuates, “It’s all going to be perfect, you’ll see”.

Andrés brings him closer and goes on dancing. They keep swaying quietly even after the music stops. They dance to the song of their lives.

Sergio leaves for Madrid this night.

Andrés understands now that his legacy isn't his or his brother's plan, it's none of the work he's done throughout his life. His only true legacy will live through Martín.

Martín, who is the only thing there is that is as much himself as he is.

Martín who isn’t his soulmate, but his own soul.

He can admit this to himself now. His soul that he has to leave whole. 

Even if he has to bear the pain of tearing it out of himself.

Andrés remembers a haunting story that caught his attention years ago, crossing his mind many times over the years. A beautiful one about the death of angels.

Where after the Angel of Death reaps all souls ever created -of humans and angels alike- and hands them to his God, he’ll walk to him. In all the vastness of the universe, they’d be the only two remaining. God will then ask his Angel, his first living creature, his beloved proof to all the life he breathed into the world, he will look at him and ask him to reap his own soul. 

The terrifying, beautiful, obedient angel does and, even though he knew it was coming from the day he was created, his scream of pain reaches every last fiber of the universe and shakes it.

Andrés has always found it a striking story of absolute loyalty and devotion, of intimacy and pain, of power and annihilating love, of time made meaningless.

It seems different to him now, stripped from all its beauty and aesthetic value, he wonders, for the first time, how this God could endure the order, how he could force himself to witness it, how he could look at his empty universe after it without tearing out his own eyes and tongue for what he's done. 

Despite all of his own selfishness and cruelty, he understands now that this is something he’s not willing to, no,  _ can’t _ allow to trespass.

His decision, all of it, gives him freedom. Freedom similar to the one the knowledge of his death brought him. The freedom from all the conscious and unconscious chains that ever held him back, of all the pretenses and games, of denials and unuttered realities, the freedom to  _ finally, finally  _ look it in the eyes. 

This and that there's only one way to get expelled from Paradise. And that is to taste.

He has to know.

"How do I look?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Required readings who? In this house we update fics at 3 am like men. We also go to early classes with no sleep to make arguments on unread books like idiots. I regret nothing (btw I expremiented a little with Martín's sense of the passage of time and general experience. Would love to hear what you guys think. Please let me know)
> 
> Also, I decided to devide the upcoming chapters to avoid making them too long.

It hit him then, when Andrés kissed him, why infants' first sign of life is a cry. He couldn't help it, long before Andrés pulled away, long before he uttered the cursed words, long before he snatched the plan out of Martín's soul.

Long before he walked away from him and Martín would swear he could hear the ripping of being torn apart from him.

He wanted to cry then, because he _finally_ knew what it is to truly breathe.

All of this seems so long ago and at once it feels like the only thing that ever happened to him. But in reality, he's certain it happened this week or maybe last week. He's not exactly sure. After he destroyed all there is to destroy in the chapel, after he drank all there is to drink in the monastery, he stayed put and waited.

Waited for what exactly, he doesn't know. Somewhere deep in his mind, where logic still resides, he knows that Andrés isn't coming back, he didn't even come back for his belongings, yet he waited. He also knows, in another obscure place within him, that no matter how many nights he takes out the gun within its pretty case, like a nightly ritual, and places it in front of him, no matter how many times he takes it out and caresses it softly, puts it in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the barrel, that he won't do it. Not out of his self-preservation, no, that he knows. But for something else that he can't name. Whatever it is, it's demanding enough for him to listen to. 

So for weeks that turn into months, he does his little nightly dance, bringing the only routine in his new life. 

He wakes up, he drinks and he does his little joke.

The only routine that is, except the few moments after he throws up everything and before he starts drinking again, where he's trapped in a certain extent of clarity. And he thinks. He goes over it all. Sometimes only that _night_ . Other times the entire chronicle of their years together. He tries to find the error, the flaw in the system, but nothing he can come up with could be well-proven. Nothing makes enough sense. Andrés' disgust at the sight of the magnitude of Martín's desire wouldn't outweigh his love for the plan, his own desire to cut Martín out of his life _couldn't_ be enough to throw the plan away with him. 

Looking back on this night, too, he sees now that Andrés was going to leave either way, whether Martín had kissed him or not. It was in the air itself. If Andrés had had his way, it would have thundered too. Just to perfect the show he made out of Martín's life. Of course he would have left. Of course. It was this obscured knowledge that manifested itself in Martín's decision to finally do it; he knew that he had nothing to lose.

But then he _kissed him back_.

Nothing is more pathetic; nothing could evoke so much laughter as Martín's _hope_ then. What a fool he was. What a fool he had turned into.

He looks for the bottle of _Johnnie walker_ that he's certain rolled over under the table a few nights ago. 

And there it is. It's his lucky day then. Sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, he nips at his Tuna can as he drinks his scotch and hums. His stomach no longer demands more food than he gives it, unlike those first few weeks; without doubt grateful that Martín is willing to give it anything at all; like a tamed beast, no longer snarling and growling at him. 

Martín can't step foot into that damn kitchen. There's too much there. Too much of the plan. He won't be able to withstand the sight of it.

He pushes the can away, downs the remainder of the bottle and slides down to sleep. He doesn't know what time it is, but he's too tired to start looking where he put the rest of the alcohol, so he tries to sleep. He doesn't sleep on the bed anymore, it started to smell more of him than of Andrés and that scared him too much that he hasn't touched it since. 

He can't always tell now when sleeping turns to wakefulness or vice versa. He figures that in essence both are the same thing. The thought sounds meaninglessly poetic to him and his first instinct is to turn around and tell it to Andrés.

Andrés who's not there.

It's time for his little game then.

Maybe tonight will be the night he's relieved from his Groundhog Day-curse.

He opens the drawer and takes out the case. He sits on his knees, like in a prayer, and puts it on the small table. He opens it carefully, and takes it out with both hands, but then puts it back again. He needs a strong drink before this. He puts some music on too. For the first time since the night. He couldn't bear it before, but tonight is different. 

He takes out a dark-green bottle of absinthe, it's the exact color of his favourite suit of Andrés'. Very fitting, then.

He welcomes the burning in his throat, the sharpness with which it drops in his empty stomach, and the blurriness it brings him. 

He swallows every last drop of it, then lets it settle in for a minute and goes back to the gun before he forgets what it is that he's supposed to do.

His hands are trembling a little, but he still manages to take it out. He makes sure first that it's loaded then holds it with one hand. 

He takes the safety off, then tries to place the barrel in his mouth. He finds that his hand is sweaty. As he moves it to his thigh to wipe it, the gun slips out. He tries to hold it back steady, but he ends up juggling it between his trembling hands. And it goes off.

The loud bang startled him too much he fell back. For a moment, he thinks it hit him, although not quite sure where. He doesn't feel any particular additional pain. Maybe he's already dead, but he knows it's unlikely to die this fast. Maybe some time has passed, but he's not fully aware.

He opens his eyes. There's no blood around him; no blood coming out from him. 

He sets up and looks around the dim-lit room.

He laughs. Not out of relief, but for how ridiculous it is.

It hit the wall.

He approaches it to look closer. 

No.

It didn't hit the wall.

He can feel the absurd beating of his heart getting unbearably faster, the alcohol already swirling around the insides of his throat. He became overly aware of the claminess of his hands, the intense shaking of his entire body. 

The bullet didn't hit the wall. It hit the painting. The bullet just a little to the side of his head. He brings his trembling hand to touch it, slowly moving it to caress his face.

_Oh_

_Oh_

He runs to look for his phone. Damned thing is out of battery. He moves around as fast as he could find the charger. It takes him a couple of minutes until he could put it in the socket, then waits impatiently for it to turn on. 

He picks it out from the contacts and dials. 

_Answer it_

_Answer it, hijo de puta_

"Martín?", the familiar voice reaches him, Martín lets out a relieving laugh.

"Where are you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Where are you? I need to talk to you. Are you in Toledo?"

"Yes. But I'm leaving again in a few hours. What's going on? Can't you tell me on the phone?"

"No. No. Certainly not"

_Silence_

"I'll be in Madrid for a couple of days"

"I'll see you, then"

He hung up and ran to the kitchen. He made an entire pot of coffee, trying to outdo the effect of the alcohol. 

Then he hurried upstairs. There's everything he needs. He spends the night reading it all.

Next, he goes to his own room. After taking a very quick shower, he packs everything he might need, takes some money and one of the passports, then drives to the airport.

When he gets to the hotel, he doesn't bother going to sleep. He shaves, but doesn't cut his hair, then takes a long, cold shower; trying to get the smell of the past few months off him. For the first time since then too, he puts on some actual presentable clothes and goes down, where he's sure he's already there, straight to the minute.

He finds him standing at the bar, swirling his glass of whisky

"Sergio", he acknowledges as he approaches him.

"Martín. How are you?", the bastard sounded sincere. Martín wanted to punch him so hard that they won't be able to get the glass from his glasses out of his face.

"Good. Good. I'm not here to talk chit-chat though"

"Yes. I'd also like to know what are you here for exactly"

He orders himself a glass of whisky. The bitch didn't even bother to order one for him.

"I want in"

Sergio stares at him for a second. Martín takes a sip from his glass.

"In what?"

Martín grins.

"The mint heist" 

Sergio chokes on his drink. He takes out a napkin and wipes his mouth, fixing his glasses. He turns to Martín and doesn't say anything, starts to speak then stops. Then starts again.

"No, you don't. You've clearly stated your position towards the heist. Countless times. Unprompted too"

"People change, Sergio. I've changed my mind"

"No"

"No?"

Sergio looks him in the eye, then takes a sharp breath. "There's no need for pretenses, Martín. You already know what I think. You already know why I can't have you on the heist". 

Martín rubs his mouth and chin, then moves closer to him and hums.

"I expected this answer. It's a shame, of course. But do you know what would even be more of a shame, hm?", Sergio doesn't say anything. Martín smiles slowly. Setting the air of anticipation. "If our little Alison misses the educational trip. You know teenage girls, so unfocused. Of course you can't blame all the accidents, kidnapping and all else on their distractions, but if you ask me, they ought to be more careful", Sergio swallows. "It would also be a shame if the police somehow knew about all your moves before it was even time for you to play them, or say, if they, through an unfortunate mistake of course, came to the knowledge of your escape plan. Of the beautiful undocumented 5 years old tunnel", Martín smiles "or anything else, no?" he chuckles. "I'm too unpredictable. I'm a genius, unpredictable maniac that you won't see coming", he mimics in a serious tone. Then takes another sip from his drink "I'm not the police, that's for sure, there's no catalog you can learn me through. No steps of negotiation you can study and master", he takes a breath. "The real shame, Sergio, would be asking you to deal with both me and the police. It would simply be too much", he pouts his lips. "I wouldn't want to put my _beloved's_ baby brother through that". Sergio's face turn more sour at the words. Good.

Sergio takes off his glasses and wipes it. Then looks up at Martín, nods in understanding. 

"I can make a deal with you", Martín doesn't let the sense of relief wash over him. Not yet. "On one condition"

Here it is. Martín holds his breath.

"You won't enter the mint"

"Serg-"

"No. No. This is not up for discussion. I don't care what you're willing to do". Martín doesn't say anything, so Sergio continues. "You'll be with me outside or you won't be involved at all"

Martín looks around him, at the tourist hotel guests and staff engulfed in their meaningless business. 

Then turns back to Sergio, then after a moment nods. And shakes Sergio's hand, that he put out for Martín.

"May I ask, why?"

"I want the money", Sergio raised an eyebrow. "What? I live an expensive life", Sergio still looks unconvinced, but he lets it go.

They part ways until Sergio is done with what he came here for, then they'll head for Toledo together, for Martín's final confrontation. He tries to go to sleep, but can't stop thinking. About everything. About seeing him again. It has been nearly a year, or maybe a bit over a year, since the night. He doesn't know how he'll take it. He can almost predict how Andrés will react to him though. But his cruelty isn't foreign to Martín and it wouldn't be nearly enough to turn him away. Andrés' pleasure is no longer his priority. The knoweldge; Martín's recent understanding, changed everything.

It broke something in him, something in his internal mechanisms; the caliber he abided to since he set his eyes on Andrés for the first time. That system that worked between his desire to comply with Andrés' every want; all his spoken or unuttered requests; to roll over like a pet; bring him comfort, fulfil all his needs and between all his instincts to protect him; to shield him with his own body if needed.

And if it's Andrés and Andrés' own self that he needs to stand between now, then so be it. Regardless of everything else, regardless of the fact that his wants now is to throw Martín away from him. 

It broke something in him. But it was liberating, in a way. There is nothing Andrés is capable of now that can turn Martín away from his Holy Grail. And well, if there's anything he can very well live with, it's a debilitating wound.


	20. Pre-Mint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I divided the chapters to avoid unnecessary length? yeah, you shouldn't take my word for anything because I've never planned a thing in my life and sure as hell not about to start now. Anyway, I had no idea what happened, but I still enjoyed writing it very much and I hope y'all like it. Please let me know what you think in the comments.
> 
> (also in this chapter, even though it's predominately from Andres' perspective, I mixed between their povs a bit. Hope it isn't disturbing?)

He pushed open the kitchen window to let in some air and sun. It's still dim, but he likes it even better this way. He can manage his way well within this half-darkness. And it's a perfect manifestation of what he feels inside. A fitting atmosphere, really.

He put on some music and started pulling different items from the fridge and the shelves. Sergio should be here any minute now. 

He hummed to the music as he moved around the kitchen, comfortable in his robe. It's nice; reminds him of the mornings Sergio was allowed to leave the hospital. Like now, he would wake up early to prepare them breakfast; Sergio would sit there, all eaten up by the awkwardness and the shyness which were amplified by his frail body and too-scrawny face. Still, every single time, Andrés would believe that his too early breakfasts would salvage the rest of his brother's body, and every time he would nearly succeed, that is until Sergio was engulfed by sickness again. 

But once again, every single time, he believed he could bring him to health, even if by will alone.

In the end, he did. 

The quietness of the house -that is, other than the creaking of the stairs and heavy doors, and the harsh, loud wind against the windows-, is quite pleasant. He tries to enjoy it enough before the others show up. From what he's seen in their profiles, he's certain he won't find a moment of tranquility among them. The only positive aspect of it is that their voices might be louder than the ones in his head.

He sipped from his coffee and started scrambling the eggs as the hesitant sun came up behind him, illuminating the entire kitchen. Something stops him in his tracks nearly instantly though. An  _ odour _ . One that is impossible to make its way to him  _ here _ , in this empty house on the outskirts of Toledo. 

Irrationally, he looked up and stared at the door, his fingers tightening around the wooden spoon, counting his breaths inside his head. 

Uno

Dos

Tres

And the impossible showed up out of thin air, tentatively; wavering at the door with a suitcase in hand.

He looked him in the eye, his slender chest heaving. After a moment, he spoke. "You should make that for three", Andrés' eyes trailed after him as he put down his bag and moved his hands to his back pockets, hesitantly advancing inside, looking around the kitchen.  _ No _ . 

Andrés didn't say a word, his breath caught in his throat.

"Sergio is outs-"

"What are you doing here?", Andrés hastened. His heart nearly beating itself out of his chest. He managed to keep his voice composed though.

"That's not a very nice welcome", Martín answered in a tone Andrés supposes was meant to be sarcastic but came out broken instead. Martín shifted his gaze from the window to him. Normally, Andrés' attention would be captured by the way the bright sunshine accentuates the blue of his eyes, now he only glimpses a fraction of contempt. Contempt and deep exhaustion.

"That's because you're not welcome here", he stated coldly. "I don't want you"

Martín winced, then lit up in crimson rage. "And? Am I shoving my fucking dick down your throat?"

Andrés turned off the stove and threw the burned eggs down the garbage can, taking his time to scrub off the stuck bits. 

"I'm here for the heist. You'll have to accept that I'm a part of it now"

"I don't have to accept anything. You're leaving", he strode to the door to grab the suitcase and held it to Martín's chest. Martín didn't move a muscle. Breathing hard, looking Andrés in the eye.

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. You can ask your brother. He and I both agree that the heist is better with me involved", he spat. "Really, ask him", he attempted to take the suitcase to put it down, but Andrés grabbed his wrist harshly -and tried not to think of how noticeably smaller it is between his fingers.

"You are leaving", Andrés said through clenched teeth, accentuating every word. "Now"

"Or what?", Martín sneered. He leaned his face closer, his eyes shining. "What is it that you'll do to me, hm?"

_ What is left for you to do to me _ .

He let go of him and Martín scoffed.

_ Little bastard _ . Andrés can see all the work he's done crumple down in his mind's eye. 

But damn him if he'll surrender this easily.

Andrés closed his eyes and took a breath. "What is it,  _ Martín _ ?", he rolled his tongue, forming a small grin on his face "Have you finally lost that last shred of dignity? I throw you out like a dog and you're still following me here", Martín flinched. "You know very well that neither I nor my brother want you involved and you still try to force your way in", this time he's the one who leans in, "Aren't you tired from shoving yourself in places where you're simply not wanted, weren't 10 years long enough for you?"

If his poison-tainted, albeit sincere, confession wasn't enough, then this will be. So close, he can already sense the heightened pulse, the widening of the pupil, the tremble in the hands, the slumber in the shoulders, the quiver of the lips. Good. 

Martín took a moment then wiped the tear scrolling down his face with the back of his hand, then moved both arms behind his back as if handcuffed, straightened his shoulders slightly. "I won't bother you. I'll stay out of your way as much as I could, but I'm not leaving"

_ Oh for fuck's sake _

"You're already bothering me by being here, how could I make this clearer? Your presence in this room now instead of whoring yourself out in some toilet god-knows-where is bothering me", he loosened his jaws to stop the grinding of his teeth. Martín is standing still, taking every blow "You following me here is bothering me. Shoving yourself in my father's plan is bothering me. Following me into the mint will most fucking certainly bother me"

"He won't"

He turns at Sergio's voice. He doesn't know for how long he has been standing there. "He's not entering the mint. Martín will remain outside. With me"

Andrés is rarely caught off guard, thanks to his ability to anticipate the moves of those around him. But he has to admit;  _ this _ he didn't expect. Martín agreeing -as apparent in his lack of either surprise or objection- to be outside is more surprising than him showing up here in the first place. He also has to admit the apparent -however slight- relief that hit his chest.

Sergio turned to Martín, who in turn nodded back and grabbed his suitcase on his way out of the kitchen. "I'm going to unpack", he turned to walk backward, "I'll see you later,  _ old friends _ ", he slurred. The mocking grin directed at both of them.

Andrés rubbed his face, then raised it to meet Sergio's. "Mind explaining what the fuck is that?"

"I would ask the same. Are you really that sick? For fuck's sake, Andrés". That  _ hypocrite  _ bastard.

"Sergio", he warned.

"As he explained, he's part of the heist now", Sergio slumbered down on the chair as he took his glasses off to wipe them, leaning heavily on the table as he did so.

"Yeah, I've understood that part. Again, mind explaining what the fuck is happening?"

"Why is it bothering you so much? I thought you'd be glad to see him again", he said genuinely.

"If I wanted to see him again, then I would have done so, don't you think?"

"Well, whether you want him here or not doesn't change anything now, he is. We'll have to deal with it"

Andrés shook his head. How is all of this turning to hell so soon

"Sit down, will you? You'll come to see this isn't as bad as it seems"

Andrés did. "Oh, is that so?", Sergio began to answer, but Andrés stopped him. He let out half-breath, half-laugh. "Was this your intention all along, little brother? You wanted him from the start, didn't you? Just in  _ your _ plan, under  _ your  _ command, no? So you separated us, you made sure our plan would be scrapped, so then there would be no gold to lure him and instead, he'll settle for your silver, so then  _ he _ 'll be the one coming to you"

"What are you talking about? No, of course not", he shook his head, "This is insane. Of course not.", he repeated. "However, the dangers of your heist, some of them at least, don't stand here"

"What is it, Sergio? Is Martín no longer the great  _ Mephistopheles  _ we should all avoid? Have you grown so fond of him after all, hm? shall I expect a wedding invitation soon?"

"He brought up some good points, that's what happened"

Andrés hummed, raising his eyebrows, feigning amusement he's feeling none of. 

"Which are?"

"He's a loose thread, Andrés", Sergio stated in a carefully composed tone. "This is the only way to keep him in check unless you want me to get rid of him another way"

He loves his brother, he really does, but he's this close to shooting him in the face "He's not a loose thread, he wouldn't have sabotaged the plan from the outside"

"Except that he would have", Sergio hissed, eyes widened. "He would because he wants to be included bad enough and he would stop at nothing. And neither you nor I would see it coming. You said it yourself, Andrés, he would betray you in the right circumstances, this  _ is _ the right circumstances", he leaned back, drawing a deep breath. "Especially regarding recent developments"

"Recent developments? Enlighten me, little brother, I've not been following the news"

Sergio rolled his eyes. "It has been a year since you left him, Andrés. A year since you've even heard of him. In all calculations, he has been apart from you long enough to move on"

Andrés laughed. Genuinely.

"What do you think he's doing here, then? If he has, according to your infallible calculations, of course, moved on"

"I don't know yet. All he wanted was to be involved. He didn't fight for a position of power, neither has he fought enough to let be inside the mint. It seems all that matters to him is that he's involved. I've done my research, there are no signs for any intended plan, nothing at all in the last year; he hasn't even left the monastery for longer than a night since then", he ignored the splitting in his chest, "I don't know what it is he's really after and this is why I need your help"

"No. No. You are actually joking, aren't you? Martín is your problem now", he stood up and started to walk away, but Sergio took a few steps and blocked his way. "I'm certain it has something to do with you. If we find out why exactly he's here, we'll be able to control him better", Sergio's eyes were pleading.

The same way they did when he was a shivering child, leaning in to whisper to Andrés his intentions while the casket was lowered into the ground, timidly asking Andrés to do it with him.

The same way they did in a cold Russian clinic, when he was so delirious from the treatments he could barely form coherent sentences, but still asked Andrés to read him his father's notes. 

The same way they did in the monastery.

He sat down.

"Forgive me, but are you really asking me to be your undercover spy on my bestfriend, the man in love with me, who I abandoned  _ for you _ , to follow you into the mint?"

"All I'm asking is for you to keep an eye on him. And to avoid any...uh provocations"

Andrés raised his eyebrows, a small grin forming on his face.

________

What marks Andrés, in his humble opinion, is his subtlety. It was what has made him a master at his job at the end of the day. The thing is, humans are very predictable, if unwary by nature. Andrés has figured all the ways around them; he listens, he soothes, he  _ emphasizes _ and he walks away with all he wants.

Discretion, subtlety, artfulness -for he was an artist after all- is really what he's all about.

He barged into Martín's room. "Why the fuck are you here?"

Martín looked up from Sergio’s papers that he was huddled onto; a pencil behind his ear. He ached at the familiar sight; ignoring the nude chest. He has seen him completely naked countless times before, this is nothing in comparison, but his rips never stuck out to that extent, his belly has never been so flat, his spine was never so grazed by his flesh as if it was only a thin cover.  _ How could you have let this happen to you, my dearest one _

"Well, Andrés, you're not the only one with dreams of vineyards"

"You don't care for the money", Andrés stated.

"How the hell would you know what I care and don't care for?", he snapped.

"You care for me", he said calmly.

"And? Haven't you gloated enough about how little that means to you?", he spat.

Andrés swallowed. He moved to sit on the bed. Martín sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair, not facing him.

He wondered if it's as unbearable for him as it is for Andrés. 

"I'm not the one you should be worried about anyway, you could report to Sergio that I'm safe to work with. I won't sabotage the plan", he turned to face him. "You have my word, Andrés"

Andrés nodded, disregarding the implications of Martín's words, disregarding how little he thinks of him now -he was supposed to leave him with the best version of himself, and a bittersweet ending; thinking the world of him-, there's none of this now, but maybe he was mistaken in his initial calculations too, maybe this is what Martín has thought for a year. He drew a breath, this is for the best. It is. It was then and still is now. It's worth the hatred. It's worth everything.

"You shouldn't be here, Martín"

"Neither should you, but here we are"

_ Indeed, here we are. _

He nodded and walked out of the room, Martín kicked the door shut when he was barely out. Sergio is working in his room too, so he went downstairs and started making dinner, so they could finally do what all three of them are here for.

Sergio joined him when he was nearly done with the shrimp lasagna. 

"Sit the table, would you?", he asked, not looking up.

Sergio does. Andrés can feel his eyes on him the entire time. He put it in the oven and looked up.

"What is it?"

"Nothing"

He gave him a minute, staring at him.

"Are you okay?", he asked at last.

Andrés wanted to laugh. A lot of things are of laughing matters today. He doesn't.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm perfect"

They sat there in silence until it was ready and Sergio went to bring Martín. 

Martín walked into the kitchen, perfecting the line of avoiding Andrés, but exactly less than a noticeable avoidance that would cause Sergio to be suspicious. 

Almost casual.

Casual.

_ Martín _ .

Ha. Who would have thought

But he's not Sergio. He knows Martín better than he knows himself. 

So he brought out the pan, started to cut the pieces carefully. And he waited. 

"Ah, my favourite", Martín smiled, what reaches his eyes is something else however. 

Andrés purposefully gave him a larger-than-average piece. Then he sat and waited. 

He can't force Martín out. But he can disturb him, he can turn his consciousness to two, then three, and more. He'll be torn between Andrés' cruelty and care. His indifference and love. He'll leave by himself.

Yes.

He also wants him to eat.

"When does the rest get here?", Martín directed at Sergio.

"In 4 days at most. Silene is in hiding now", Sergio said somberly "I'm waiting for the right moment"

"It's the boyfriend you wanted, isn't it?", Martín said. Sergio looked up at him, with a hint of surprise. How amusing, how alike Sergio and Martín are. And how ridiculous, how completely unaware both of them are of the fact. 

"I get it. He's good. Well, was good", he huffed up. "He would have been perfect for the job"

"He would have been, yes", Sergio admitted.

"Don't you think it's a little unnecessary though, making the girl a part of the team as a tribute?"

"It isn't a homage to him. She's necessary on her own"

"Is that so?"

"She's intelligent, quic-"

"We have plenty of intelligence in this room already. What we need is common sense. Something she obviously lacks"

"Martí-"

"She panicked in a 15 minutes robbery and killed a policeman, Sergio. How do you think she'll act for 12 days inside, with 10 times more the pressure and 100 times more the possible casualties. In the team itself-", he glanced at Andrés, "and the hostages"

"She was triggered by his death. She will have no attachments in this heist, hence no triggers. She'll be able to act rationally, objectively"

Martín moved his food around with his fork, which he had barely touched. He finished his second glass of wine. 

"Sergio, Sergio. She's not worth the risk. She got her boy kill-"

"I'll control her inside", Andrés silenced him. "The team is already made. Why don't you stay within your expertise"

Martín scoffed. "Control her? Do you think she's one of your docile women?"

"Martín", Sergio warned. He took a sharp breath "You've brought up something important actually"

Andrés raised his eyebrows, from the side-eye he saw the gesture mirrored by Martín.

"It's important, for all of us here, to start, uh, detaching. Once the team is here, we will be strangers, and it won't be very convincing if we're constantly aware of the history that we share. So Martín, you'll have never met Andrés before and certainly will have never met any of his-", he coughs, "Women. Docile or otherwise"

Martín gazed at Sergio, then turned to Andrés, the side of his lips turned just slightly. He nodded, a little frantically, downed his third cup, and got up.

"Well,  _ strangers _ . Until morning then", he smiled. Then bowed, imitating taking off a hat, first to Andrés, then Sergio.

"Mister. Señor. Buenos noches"

Andrés leaned back and crossed his arms, turning to Sergio.

"It went fine"

"Of course it did, hermanito. Of course it did"

"I'll go to bed, too. Good night", Sergio took off. And Andrés was left in the empty kitchen by himself.

He leaned on the table and held his face in his hands. Breathing in. Breathing out. 

He let all the events of the day fall on him. One after the other.

There's nothing he wants now more than to go upstairs to Martín's room, to barge in the door and sleep in the warmth of his bed; to let his head rest on Martín's chest and for all of this to melt out of him. 

For the better half of an hour, he let his eyes linger on Martín's full plate, absentmindedly.

\--------------------

Every time he thinks it nearly works, he's met with  _ nothing _ . Nada. Martín is running the Olympics for persistence, apparently.

He wavers. He gets hurt. He lashes out. He bites his tongue and stays quiet. He takes any and everything he throws at him. Not just him, no, Sergio too. 

Sergio, who is starting to believe Martín isn't here to sabotage the plan since he's helping. A lot. His additions are more than worthwhile. His remarks are never personal. Only analytical and aiming for a solution. The engineer has taken over, it seems.

There's no way for Andrés around it. He can't get him to leave.

He did get him to believe that he doesn't care for him on the other hand. This might do the job, in a roundabout way.

He wonders, though, how much of this was intentional work of him and not the culmination of the last 10 years.

He's tempted to let go. To open up his arms to the helplessness and let it free him. To allow himself to just bask in his presence, to hang in his room and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

To just have him. Fully.

But there are things Andrés doesn't gamble with. 

Martín's life is at the top of this list.

And the real game hasn't even started yet. When the others arrive, it'll all start.

Which is tomorrow morning. 

_____________

"Palermo", Martín answered absentmindedly, fidgeting with his pen.

"And you?", Sergio turned to him.

He took a moment to consider it. "Berlín".

Martín looked up at him, a shadow of a smile from another life on his face. One with Gods and Angels, luminous against the dark sky.

___________

Martín walked into the kitchen as Andrés and Nairobi were making breakfast. Tokyo was sitting on the table, with one leg raised on it as she painted her toenails.

“Hey, get your foot off the table we eat on, that’s fucking disgusting”, Martín grimaced at her.

Tokyo ignored him, focusing on her nails as if she were performing surgery.  _ Women. _

“Why are you drinking coffee now? We’ll have coffee with breakfast?”, Nairobi turned to Andrés as he sipped from his mug.

“He likes drinking coffee while preparing the food”, both he and Nairobi turned around to Martín, who had a look of pure horror on his face.

Nairobi borrowed her eyes, “How would you know that?”

“Because he has done this every single time he made breakfast over the past few weeks, I’m observant, Nairobi, a trait good thieves possess”, he spat, controlling his face.

Nairobi shrugged and turned to her task. Andrés stole a glance at Martín who suppressed a laugh, happy with his quick wit.

He tried to ignore him completely, to act as if he’s just any other member of the team, for his own sake as for Martín’s, but it’s a nearly impossible task. He knows Martín is trying and failing as well. 

As it were for the last ten years, it seems the fabric of the universe itself rejects their separateness. It’s difficult to avoid meeting his eyes with a sly smile when Sergio is acting like Sergio, to restrain himself from touching his shoulder, pushing more food into his plate, grabbing the cigarette from his mouth, going to his room at night to joke about the absurdity of it all. It’s difficult to restrain the naturalness of gravitating towards the other, just like when they’ve first met, despite everything that happened between them; despite all the cruelty and pain.

________

Everyone shifted to Andrés at the other head of the table as Nairobi turned the question to him, Martín's eyes specifically piercing him.

He hummed. "Well, despite my commitment to meaningful, loving relationships-", everyone groaned.  _ Assholes _ , "despite it", he raised his voice, shutting them up, "I can appreciate the concept"

A couple of raised eyebrows.

"It's simple, really. Anything done for its own sake is purer; morally higher too, than that which serves another purpose. An act of faith is better when it's for the sake of pure faith than when it is in either fear of hell or desire of heaven. And as I'm sure you've heard multiple times before, Art for Art's sake is the most magnificent. The same applies to sexual relationships, desire is at its most intense, highest state when it's just desire. Procreation, love, stability, commitment are all admirable things on their own rights, but in mixing with desire, they dilute it"

"Do you even believe the words coming out of your mouth? Do either of you do?", Nairobi asked, startled, then got up to move inside, shaking her head.

"Incredible. We have two insane men. One in the outside and one inside", Río said, following Nairobi. 

Andrés was barely aware of their comments. The only thing cutting its own way to him was Martín's laughter, his glimmering eyes from across the table, the  _ Boom Boom Ciao  _ song coming out of him. Andrés laughed in response, throwing his head backward. He resisted this horrific song for 10 years, he won't be getting pulled in now, especially not with a whole bunch of idiots screaming instead of just one.

"Why don't you suck his dick then, Berlín, if your views are so aligned?", Tokyo said and Martín glared at her.

"I'm not sure, maybe I will, but I will make sure to come to you for advice first, to just tell me what exactly is the right order of things? Is it sucking his dick, dinner, then getting him killed, or another mix?", he smiled. 

She stormed up, throwing the chair she was sitting on to the back; her face a study in fury, and strode to him, apparently attempting to physically attack him, but Helsinki held her back fast enough. Andrés didn't move a muscle, smiling at her. 

"I'll kill you, you sick son of a bitch", she bellowed at him, kicking and scratching as Helsinki carried her inside.

Denver attempted to follow her, looking disapprovingly at Andrés, but his father held him back. Sergio sighed deeply from across the table, but Andrés' attention was already caught by the indecipherable look in Martín's eyes as he stared at him.

___________

He didn't lie to Martín. 

There isn't any desire from him towards men. There isn't desire towards Martín either. 

Or well, what he initially thought of as desire; that is what he felt towards women his entire life, a basic need wanting to be fulfilled to clear his mind; his likening to the delicate flesh, wanting to reach gratification and that's it.

What he feels, always has felt, towards Martín is something else entirely. 

The only word that reaches Andrés' mind is carnal; he doesn't want to simply fuck him, no, he wants to reach inside his chest and rip his heart out, to lick the blood dripping from it, to bite into it, swallow it. To consume him, completely. Until every last piece of him is tucked inside of Andrés. So that Andrés himself would no longer be Andrés, so that he would go mad with the knowledge that there isn't any more to have.

So that Andrés would have to face the truth of his insatiable voracity for him.

But…

There was also the way his lips tasted, the way he panted against his mouth.

There is no unknowing what it is like to share his breath.

The real punishment was never the exile, Andrés realized, it was always in the damnation of looking aimlessly, in a maddening frenzy, for the same apple and never reaching it again. The condemnation was knowing the apple was irreplaceable. Eden was always hell in disguise; a paradox of pain. In the end, there was the initial curiosity; the yearning, that was the seed of the curse, and there was  _ knowing _ and never having again,  _ this _ , this is something else entirely. 

Andrés reminded himself again that he must be the executioner and the executed.

No matter how sweet the temptation. No matter how much he's itching to just reach, to  _ take _ .

___________

Martín leaned on one leg, smiling despite himself at Andrés' fucking with Denver. The boy stormed off and Martín laughed, wholeheartedly, as Helsinki got up to follow him.

He nudged Nairobi to move, so he could lay there too, tired from standing up. He also doesn't want to ruin his outfit by laying on the grass directly. But she's not fully aware of him, he followed her gaze to Andrés, who was staring back as intensely. No wonder catching his attention in that flaming red dress. 

"Hey! Move!", he pushed her harder.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you piece of shit? Get your own goddamn blanket"

_ This fucking gypsy _

"Nairobi", Andrés started, looking down on his paintings,"have you ever considered painting?"

Nairobi stood up, walking in an exaggeratedly seductive way. "Have I considered it? I'm the best fucking painter in the goddamn universe, cariño", she stood over Andrés' shoulder, looking at the painting. "But I only paint things that matter", she chuckled, "What good is this? Very pretty, yes, but what is the use?"

"Bringing beauty into the world, of course. That is equally, if not more important than bringing money", he amused her.

"I already bring enough beauty by existing, don't you think?"

Martín made a gagging noise. She threw him a glare then turned to Andrés again, winking. He laughed. The laughter bruising Martín.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare argue", he turned a few pages, settling on one then handed it to her.

"Ohhh, now I'm convinced, look at this Oslo, absolutely stunning, how do you all handle yourselves when I'm around looking like that", she tutted, pleased with herself.

Moscow let out a genuine laugh, got up, slapped Oslo on the back. "I'll go check on Denver"

"Next time you should draw me like that lady in Titanic", she wiggled her eyebrows, "But instead of the necklace it would be the beautiful money I'll print, sprayed all over me", she accentuated and Andrés laughed.

"It's a deal then"

Martín shut his eyes against the sun and tried to drown their voices, their laughter, their  _ obscenities _ -

"You  _ are _ quite good", she said, in a serious tone as Martín heard the shuffle of the pages. "It's a shame you're such a misogynistic asshole"

Despite the joking nature of it, her disturbance didn't escape Martín. He was used to it with Andrés. People -usually women- couldn't reconcile his two sides. The artist and the ruthless, the poet and the crude, the lover and the indifferent. Not Martín though. Martín loved him wholly, for everything that he was and everything that he could be, for all that he was capable of, for the things he did and the things he didn't do. He loved him for all the versions of him that could have existed and didn't, and for all the ones that did. He loved him as he loved the language of the universe -it wasn't there to be judged or refuted for what it was, it was only there to be witnessed, admired, studied, and loved.

"Another word and I'll-", Andrés started to warn.

"Oslo looks so nice here, you really got his vibe", Oslo hummed in agreement, "And there's Palermo-",

He focused on keeping his eyes closed as the words sent shivers down his spine.

"That's enough. Give it back", Andrés ordered.

He heard the shuffle of her dress as she was apparently moving further a bit from Andrés.

"And there's Palermo again. And Palermo again", he opened his eyes at that, but Andrés wasn't looking at him, instead glaring at Nairobi. "He looks younger here", she contemplated, the words more of a mumble to herself than a remark as she studied the painting closely.

Martín's heart was threatening to jump out of his chest. He held his breath.

Nairobi looked up, turned to Martín with narrowed eyes, tilted her head, and stared, then shifted again to Andrés, repeating the gesture. 

She moved back slightly, trying to look at both of them at once, fidgeting with the flower in her hand.

"Artists have this little thing called imagination, look it up"

It wasn’t the meaningless words that shut her up, but his tone that has changed from playful to murderous in seconds. He stretched his hand out and Nairobi handed him the papers back.

She laid down slowly next to Martín, her dress tickling him. Even though he was looking at the sky he could feel her eyes on him.

__________

Martín's missions of the heist so far seemed to boil down to:

1- Single-handedly trying to teach Helsinki and Oslo Spanish so that it wouldn't be Castellan they spoke, but a ripoff of his Argentine (not without success). 

2- Apparently attempting to push Tokyo to kill him in his sleep

3- Cause Sergio severe anxiety

But Andrés also watched as Martín sat cross-legged on the table in the classroom, with Nairobi occupying the chair opposite him, with a pen between her teeth and a notebook on her lap. Despite her general dislike of Martín, she listened attentively as he explained to her various ways to take care of the machines, to use them to their maximum optimum and more without risking a breakdown, what to do in case of a breakdown, what to look for, when and for how long to let them rest. Andrés noticed how she took notes of every word. Unlike Tokyo, Nairobi was capable of putting her personal feelings to the side for the greater good, acknowledging Martín's intelligence, and listening. A respectful woman in control of herself.

Denver was pulled to the scene, standing aside with a stunned look on his face, as he, most-likely, understood nothing of what Martín was saying. Martín barely took notice of him, fully focusing on Nairobi remembering every word, until he asked, "Okay, I still don't understand how all of this works"

"You don't have to understand how it all works, Denver, you just have to know your own role and what to do", Andrés looked up from his painting. Denver nodded at him but still looked dissatisfied. Martín sighed deeply, then actually started explaining it slowly to Denver, all of it, using the same methods a third-grade teacher would use, but to Andrés' bafflement, Denver quickly took a seat and leaned on his elbows, following Martín's every word. The real bafflement came from Martín answering seriously every stupid question that came out of Denver's mouth until the boy seemed to  _ actually _ understand it.

Sergio was also staring at him, with a bizarre mix of irritation and satisfaction on his face, as was Moscow, with the fondness parents take towards those who amuse the absurd stories of their retarded children.

Just like that, Martín had attracted them all around him, proving himself as much an essential piece of the game as both Sergio and Andrés; gaining authority.

As he always did whenever he touched anything; he turned it to his colors, made it his.

Andrés was struggling in keeping it to himself; the urgent desire;  _ need _ to stand up and show him off, telling them that Martín is  _ his _ , always has been and always will be, that he's unattainable, that they could only stand and admire but will never get to take him.

But he did nothing, he simply went out of the room, aware of Martín's eyes following him.

__________

Martín stood aside as Helsinki pulled on his pants. He sat back on the bed with his shirt in hands, looking up at Martín. He seemed on the verge of saying something, then kept pulling back.

"You understand why we have to do this, right? We can't go into the heist with emotional baggage"

Helsinki looked down. "I know"

"Good", Martín patted him. "We're now brothers, what do you say? Comrades" he smiled at him, Helsinki mirrored him, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Comrades", he repeated and stood up. He took to go for the door, his hand already on the doorknob, but then turned around to face Martín."It's just...if it were Berlín here instead of me, you wouldn't ask him to leave after, would you?"

Martín took a shaky breath, opened his mouth, but Helsinki stopped him. "I see how you look at him, it's okay" 

Martín didn't say anything. 

"Goodnight,  _ brother _ ", Helsinki said before closing the door behind him.

Martín sighed deeply and leaned his forehead against the door, banging it lightly a few times.

_____________

Nothing was right. Absolutely nothing. 

Martín is here. Which he really, really shouldn't be.

The team is...well, a disaster. He's sad to admit his certainty that his brother's dear plan would meet its death at their hands.

He's getting sicker.

And Martín is here. There's nothing he would dislike more.

But Andrés isn't the one to overlook the silver lining. And that silver lining, or rather, golden lining, is …well, also Martín.

He's surprised to discover what a joy it is to witness Martín as if for the first time. 

To observe him as if he hadn't known him as well as if he has been his own creation; as if he wasn't his own image.

To pretend, for very brief moments at least, that they aren't who they are, that they have just met, that between this Palermo and this Berlín there is a chance of a whole life.

"Hey, Berlín. Don't read about Denver in front of him. Very rude of you", Martín tutted amusingly as he went to stretch on the chair, raising his legs on the coffee table they put outside. He closed his eyes and smiled at the sun.

Andrés laughed. Putting  _ The Idiot  _ down.

"What?", Denver asked, baffled, tilting his head to read the title. "Dost-", he stopped, recognizing the word. He suppressed a laugh, running towards Martín to attack him.

"Stay away, kid", Martín started but was cut off with Denver basically sitting on him.

Wrestling him, he couldn't stop laughing. "I'm too old for this, get off me. Moscow, call your offspring"

Moscow smiled at them as he poured the tea for everyone. Martín emerged from under Denver, completely disheveled, his dark hair all over the place, his T-shirt pulled up to reveal his stomach and V-line, pulled aside enough to show one collarbone.  _ Beautiful _ .

He found his own gaze following Denver as he stared at Martín fixing his hair, with a stunned expression on his face.  _ Curiosity _ .  _ Admiration _ . He found Helsinki also gazing at him from where he was leaning against the tree, with Sergio telling him something or the other about language learning. He's certain though that Helsinki didn't absorb a single word; his gaze fixed on Martín like a schoolgirl, with something deeper than simple attraction.

"Denver, would you hand me my mug?", Andrés raised his chin. Denver went to do what was asked of him. He held the mug carefully, approaching Andrés slowly. Andrés straightened to take it.

"OUCH", Denver screamed, pinching his T-shirt from where it was stuck on his stomach.

"Apologizes", Andrés told him, solemnly. His eyes, however, weren't at Denver, but Helsinki, who simply stared back for a few seconds before looking away from Andrés' stern stare.

Andrés took a sip from the rest of his tea, grabbing the novel; glimpsing Martín furrowing at him before focusing again on the words.

____________

Helsinki sprawled on the bed, leaning his head against his crossed arms. Martín grabbed his boxer from the floor and stood to put it on, then moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

From where he's standing, he can still see Helsinki comfortable on the bed. Well, as comfortable as he's trying to act. Martín took advantage of his position to study him; his eyes are darting between various spaces in the room, with certain alertness, when Martín talks to him from where he's standing, he avoids eye contact, all unfocused too. Guilt it is, then.

Martín walked out and leaned on the closet in front of the bed, letting his gaze linger at Helsinki. Then gave him a small smile.

"What is it?"

"What do you mean?", he blinked twice.

Martín poured him some more wine then handed him the glass. "Something is bothering you, you know you can tell me anything, right? As I said we're brothers in arms"

Helsinki fidgeted a bit with the glass, looking on his other side, and avoided Martín's eyes. Martín just stood there, not breaking his own gaze. He'll give him a minute.

Helsinki downed the full glass and put it on the table then looked up at Martín.

"Well, there's something.."

"Go ahead. Tell me", Martín encouraged.

"You know how the professor gave me money to get the car scrapped?", Martín nodded. "I needed the money, to send home, for family", he was nervous; waiting for Martín's reaction.

"You just left the car there?". He nodded

"God, Helsinki..", he took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. "You know we have our fingerprints all over the car right?", he gestured to his fingertips with his other hand. "This way they can trail it back to us" Martín sighed deeply as recognition hit Helsinki, "It's good that you told me now though. This way we can fix it before it's too late"

Helsinki nodded, looking relieved. He made no move to get up though, looking between Martín and the door, as if torn.

"You know what? You can sleep here tonight if you want", he'll give him this, this one time, as a thank you for telling him before disaster took place.

"You don't mind?", Helsinki asked, a giddy smile framing his face. God, what a fucking wonder that bear is.

Martín smiled back. "No. It's okay. I'll go out for a smoke first though, I'm not sleepy", he moved to the door, and briefly glimpsed Helsinki's disappointment.

He did go out for a smoke, having decided to tell Sergio in the morning, but he saw the light coming out from under the doorstep so decided to get it done with.

He opened the door without knocking, to find Andrés leaning elegantly on the wall with a glass of wine in hand, monologuing animatedly. Sergio is sitting on the bed, with hands in his lap, listening attentively to his older brother. Both turned to him instantly.

He took his time closing the door, then moved to sit on the chair opposite the bed. He stretched his legs on the table on the side, putting one on the other, and leaned back in the chair, rocking it as he crossed his arms behind his head.

"Gentlemen, we have a little problem", he said calmly. Andrés glaring at him and Sergio waiting impatiently.

"Well, what is it?", Sergio asked at last.

"You're going to need to send someone else again to get the car scrapped. Helsinki didn't do it"

"But I gave him the money"

"And he used it. What a surprise!"

Andrés made to move for the door.

"You will leave him alone", Andrés stopped in his tracks, tilting his head at Martín, raising his eyebrow with a hint of amusement, covering up the anger Martín knew was there.

Sergio started to say something but Martín stopped him too.

"This is your own lack of foresight and preparation, Sergio. You're trapping them here for 5 months to study and practice and not giving them a cent. Not even prison does that. This was inevitably going to happen"

"They'll have millions by the end"

"But they don't have it now, do they? Responsibilities and families don't wait"

"This is a bigger problem than it seems. Those men are soldiers and if we let them get away with disobeying our orders now then we won't last inside", Andrés said.

Martín groaned, started to speak but Andrés cut him off. "What is it? Are you scared I'll break your toy bear? I shouldn't even talk to  _ you _ about obeying the rules to speak off. You don't have any control over yourself", he turned to Sergio. "Ask him how he got this information in the first place"

Sergio turned to him. 

"Oh for fuck's sake, did you really expect them to follow this fucking rule? Bundled here together for 5 months and cut off from the world? Grow up, Sergio. They  _ are  _ soldiers, but are you aware what happens between men in the trenches, hm? Shall I show you?", Martín settled the chair and leaned into Sergio, sneering.

Sergio leaned back, adjusting his glasses, and stood up. "It is important to follow this. Personal relationships sabotage the entire heist, we can't go inside with those attachments on our shoulders"

"Fucking isn't personal, Professor. Sex is just sex. No need to worry about any emotional baggage. I know what I'm doing", he stood up and walked to the door. "I'll go there myself, make sure it's done right", he attempted.

"Berlín will go. To talk to the man”, Sergio finalized. 

__________

"What about you, Palermo?" Denver turned to Martín, who leaned against the wall opposite Andrés. 

He doesn't answer right away, Andrés knows he's considering saying something that he definitely shouldn't say, but will end up saying anyway. 

"I want to use the money for another robbery". Here it is. Andrés stared at him. He takes a breath and loosens his tightening fingers on the glass handle. He wants to laugh at Sergio's reaction, who paled as if he had seen a particularly disgusting ghost, staring at Martín as if he appeared out of thin air.

"But why? You'll already have the highest amount of money anyone could rob", Río asked, baffled. Tokyo discreetly reached for his arms, seemingly saying ‘It's okay, sweetie, those are insane men’

"As Berlín said, for the art", he sipped from his wine, escaping Andrés' eyes.

Denver shook his head, letting out his horrendous laugh. 

"What will you rob?", Denver didn’t let him answer "You know what? I might want to do this again, if this one turns out alright, I'll want to join whatever crazy plan you have"

"What makes you think I want any of you in my plan?"

Denver looked actually disappointed and slumbered back in his chair. 

Martín laughed, wholeheartedly. A wonderful sound.

"Let's see how you do in this one first and I might consider interviewing you"

It satisfies Denver enough to move on to his father. Martín laughed at Moscow’s answer, but not in a demeaning way. Martín would never demean music. He even joins the singing and dancing, promising to do a tango duet with Moscow after the heist.

Andrés meets Sergio's eyes over the bundles between them. He finds in them the same dread filling him.

__________

Tension spread in the room like a dark cloud, eating them up. With Sergio's obsession over every step of the plan and Martín's irritation that he won't enter the mint starting to show up. Andrés tried to stabilize it, calm both of them; a nearly impossible task with two neurotic control-freaks.

They were three days away from entering-day and Martín wanted to modify the entire plan, coming up with hundreds of other ways to do things better.

"Sergio, Sergio listen to me. He’s an IT child, why the fuck does he has to be inside the mint, hm? And the last time  _ she _ was involved in a real situation, she panicked and  _ killed _ the police officer. She killed him, not shot him in the leg or arm,  _ killed _ him. And you're sending her now, on the first day, with the exact purpose of not injuring any of them, in the first real shooting since being trapped here for 5 months"

"We've gone over it hundreds of times. She knows exactly what to do. Last time was an absolutely different situation"

"It wasn't absolutely different. Do you even know basic psychology? Last time, her boyfriend was killed, right in front of her. Are you 100% certain she won't be triggered by the memory, that when the officers raise their weapons to her, she won't react on instinct? Forgetting all the instructions and pretty words said in a safe classroom"

"He's right, Sergio. Out there it's completely different, you don’t know the reality of it”, he met Martín’s eyes, “She's not our safest option, it would be better to let her settle in the mint first, let the new atmosphere capture her, before requiring something that crucial", Andrés said and Martín nodded frantically.

Sergio sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his face.

"Then Andrés, you could swap with her"

"NO", Martín burst out and both Andrés and Sergio turn to him. "It's important for Andrés to control the hostages those first few hours", he tried to explain, but Sergio narrowed his eyes at him, Andrés can't fault him. "His authority should be established inside from the start, or we'll have no chance of controlling them later"

"Who then, Palermo?", Sergio is fed up. "And you will not get in. To even the numbers or otherwise. It's absolutely out of the question"

Martín sighed. "What about Manilla?"

"You could send Oslo or Helsinki, literally anyone else"

Andrés nodded. Sergio leaned back. 

"She won't react well to the news"

"She can go fuck herself"

Well, Martín really does have a way with words.

The tension spread to the rest of the house as well, as everyone started getting more and more aware of what they were really going to do, the loose fun atmosphere they had over the last 5 months fading as real recognition of it set in. Anxiousness spread from one member to the other like a virus. The old halls creaked with their footsteps all night as they walked from one room to the other, reaching for each other. 

Andrés did the same on the last night. He recognized in himself the same gloom, as he stared at Sergio from across the dinner table. Sergio, his little brother, Sergio, who had no one but Andrés, Sergio who Andrés must ask to let him go. 

"You'll have to promise me, no matter what happens, you'll take Martín and ru-"

"He’s still in love with you”, Sergio interrupted, in a defeated tone, rubbing his forehead, “I thought-”

"He'll resist, but do whatever you have to do, just don't dare let them catch either of you. Promise me, Sergio, or you won’t have a commanding officer", he warned. 

“We are the resistance, no?”

And resisted is what he did, he stood outside Martín's door, more hesitant than he has been his entire life. He wanted to walk inside, hold his tender face between his bruising hands and kiss him, really _ kiss him _ this time, to hold him in his arms and sleep, to ask him to leave now, promise him anything, make up any lie, go on his knees and beg him if he has to.

He didn’t. Instead, He walked away to his room and tried to sleep.

After hours of turning and shifting, of sleep entangled with consciousness, he decided to get up. 

He poured himself a glass of wine and stood by the tall window, enjoying the quiet before the storm. Until he glimpsed a huddled figure in the distance.

The crisp air welcomed him into the front yard, he glanced up at the blue darkness of the sky; the stars shimmered hazily. He took a deep breath as he approached the other shimmering figure in the distance.

"Can I?", he curated his tone.

Instead of handing him the cigarette dangling from his mouth, which was what Andrés specifically asked for, Martín reached out for the pack and lighter on his side, neither looking at them nor Andrés, staring ahead, and handed them to Andrés.

He grabbed one, and before lighting it, put the rest of the pack in his pocket. Then sat on the hard stoop next to him. For a while they just sat there, looking at the emptiness in front of them, neither of them saying anything. 

It didn't resemble any of the comfortable silence they've shared countless times before; it wasn't a silence that existed because words were unnecessary, it was one that existed because no words could fix the wrongness.

They were stuck. What was unsaid should have remained unsaid. What was wrapping itself around them since the beginning shouldn't have been degraded by words or actions. Now they could neither go back nor move forwards. Not with-,

Still, Andrés craved his presence and his voice. He didn't think he could have it this close to the heist. In spite of everything else, he  _ is _ grateful for this.

He scanned around them to check if anyone's there. When affirmed, he turned to him. 

"Martín"

Martín closed his eyes -just for a second-, and inhaled, a pained look painted on his face, as if the simple sound of his name in Andrés' voice burned him. As if it brought pain and pleasure in equal measures.

"Do you know why I'm here?", Martín asked, still looking before him.

Andrés laughed."If you'd be too generous and tell me"

Martín turned to him. He looked strangely serene; his eyes clear, the lines on his face smooth. He smiled, shook his head lightly.

"It's simple. Each of us has their objective here. Yours is to make the plan work for your brother, his is to make it work for his father", Martín shrugged.

"And yours?", he asked softly, shifting closer.

Maybe it was the quietness and beauty of the dawn, the pregnant atmosphere, the rawness in Martín's clear voice, but for a moment he seemed to understand what would come out of Martín's mouth. And he dreaded it.

Martín turned to the scene in front of him again. "My objective is to get you out of there alive", he took a sharp breath, "If I have to make sure the plan works perfectly, second by second, then that's what I'll do. If I have to kill every single member of those idiots inside then that's what I'll do. If I have to burn the entire building then that's what I'll do", his voice was already breaking, the weight of the words crushing his throat. He turned his gaze to Andrés, "But you are not dying in there, Andrés, you're not going with a blaze of fucking glory for this heist. You're not playing the goddamn hero and dying for your fucking brother and his paper money”, he was panting. “So if you came out here to have a lovely duet with me, to make me promise to get your brother out, to save  _ him _ , while you let yourself get killed inside for him, I'd suggest you turn around and walk the fuck away from me, you're quite good at that"

Andrés spurted up, moved by the pure anger that spread to every inch of his body. "You'll deny me my death? You think this is something you can stop? Something _either of us_ could?"

Martín kept staring ahead, not looking at Andrés, but he could see his clenched fists, shaking as Andrés'.

He drew a sharp breath. "Or is it a punishment, hm?"

Martín stood up and barked out a laugh. "You would deserve it, no? You do deserve the miserable death you fucking son of a bitch, you do deserve to feel life leave your body bit by bit”, he snarled, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, “you deserve the pain and the humiliation of a slow, disgusting death because this is what you did to me you fucking LIAR"

Andrés took it all in. "I didn't lie to you. I never lied to you" 

Martín shook his head frantically, looking away. Andrés grabbed him, their faces inches apart now." I didn't. Listen to me. I didn't. I do love you. I love you enough to let go. Do you understand?”, he rubbed the back of his neck, reaching to wipe the tears from Martín’s face with the other hand. “You can't fight fate, Martín. Why can't you just let it be?"

"I'm not the one who's fighting fate, I'm not the one who walked away, I'm not the one who abandoned our plan -", he took a shaky breath, grasping Andrés’ face with both hands. "Get out of there, Andrés, print your brother's boring money and come back to me, we could still do our heist", Andrés shut his eyes, shaking his head "What are you scared of? Why are you fighting it? Just come back to me. Just come back. Please", Martín leaned his forehead on his; panting, holding Andrés desperately. "Please" 

"Berlín", Sergio's stood on the doorstep. "It's time"


	21. The Mint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. It wasn't supposed to be this long, but I'm a slut for Martin in the mint heist au. Enjoy my version for it and tell me what you think!   
> some notes:
> 
> There are a lot of italizied fucks
> 
> a lot of bonding time between my boys
> 
> enjoy!

"Well, bonding time it is then", Martín huffed as he walked up to Sergio, both of them watching the van with Andrés and the other idiots move.

Sergio went into the house and by the time Martín caught up with him, he had already taken out the white overalls. 

They cleaned the entire house quietly, erasing all DNA from the place. Sergio will come back later to put the fake items.

"We should go now. They're only 30 minutes away from entering the mint"

Martín nodded. He was trying to calm his breath, his heart-beats, but without success. They're so many things that could go wrong, a security guard could shoot, just one bullet, to the chest, the head, and it would be over, and Martín isn't there to make sure it doesn't happen. How did he think this would be a good idea, that he could just oversee it from the outside, he can't protect him from here, he should have insisted to not leave his side, what good is he now with Sergio, while Andrés is the one facing the bull-

"Palermo. Palermo!", Sergio waved a hand in front of him.

"Yeah. Let's go"

They took off to Madrid.

"In 5 minutes! Rio should have already dealt with the alarm. I still don't know why you put a child inside"

"Palermo", Sergio sighed, "he's not a child, and he's well-trained"

"Training means nothing without experience", he spat.

"2 minutes", Sergio said into the mic and Martín could hear Andrés' repetition on the other side. He sighed at hearing his voice; well, powerful, commanding.

Martín stood still. Or well, he tried, he couldn't stop moving his legs, pounding his fists to the side of his thighs. Sergio went to the other end of the room to do God-knows-what, he couldn't care less about him going insane and speaking to himself, he needed to know the operation went on alright. Denver isn't that much better than Tokio when it comes to temper and premature reaction, he wasn't the best choice to lead them out, maybe it should have been Helsinki, no, Helsinki can't lea-

He was cut off his thought by the ringing of the phone, he hurried to answer it, but Sergio stopped him, and took the phone from him. 

He could hear Andrés' voice coming from the other side, not exactly what he said though. Martín held his hands on his hips. Sergio nodded to him, assured. 

"Is he alright?", Sergio asked, then nodded at the answer. "Alright then"

He put it down. "Río nearly got shot, but they covered him and went back inside", Sergio paused, "It was successful", he grinned and Martín mirrored him; relaxing a little.

"You should have some sleep. I'll call the inspectora"

"Connect the cameras first, let us see hi- them"

Sergio lingered his gaze on him, then did as asked. Martín propped his palm on the disk, and looked at them. Berlín was sitting by Nairobi, as Tokio cleaned Río's head. Martín felt as if he hadn't taken a single breath all day, he felt his muscles relax, his nerves settling; he  _ breathed _ as he saw him alright; well and caught up in conversation. 

He felt a gentle hand on his back, looked up at Sergio, who nodded at him. "C'mon, get a little rest. Nairobi will start the machines after the first intervention tonight, she might need you"

Martín nodded at him and went to stretch on the top bed. 

He crossed his arm behind his head and watched Sergio call the police. "What are you wearing?", Martín chuckled loudly at Sergio, which earned him a silent glare, but obviously suppressed a smile himself. Martín shook his head and laughed softly. Maybe this will work out alright after all.

He woke up just before the police intervention and the little lamp's call, feeling the complete opposite once again. But it went alright. It worked. They are safe inside now. It's all good. Martín laughed in relief, meeting Sergio's eyes. He reached to ruffle his hair, almost involuntarily.

Sergio went out for coffee, after. Certainly to meet the inspectora. Martín got up and walked to the recorder. He turned down some of the light. The general darkness, vastness too, of the place was pleasant to him. The only sounds coming are from the big fan and his own movements. Everything in the vigorous city outside comes muffled. He put on a vinyl of Nirvana's  _ Where did you sleep last night  _ and sat down. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his ankles on the disk with the screens. He lit a cigarette and gave in to the music, watching the office room, where Andrés was currently sleeping. He couldn't see well, but if he focused enough, he could capture the rhythmic heaving of his chest, the peaceful sleeping face. Maybe he couldn't see it, but was projecting into the dark image the sight he was so familiar with. He relaxed into the chair, dropping his head back and watched his puffs disturb the elegant smoke coming from the cigarette itself. After a minute, he let the playful image lull his eyes to close, and with the music, he could almost pretend they're sleeping in the same room, _ home _ ; that if he reached out his arm just far enough, he could touch him.

Martín spent the night watching and checking with Nairobi and was getting ready to sleep and leave the watch to Sergio when Sergio got the phone call from the inspectora. 

Now, Martín had no doubt those idiots were going to fuck everything up. But he has to admit he didn't expect it to happen so soon, on the second fucking day. They've really outdone themselves. 

He decided to stay up with Sergio until they understand what had gone wrong. He also couldn't calm his body down. There might be a chance it's Andrés' face they've got. If it is, he swears to fucking god, he'll walk into the mint himself and shoot all the fucking hostages and the band of idiots, Sergio be damned. 

"Hey, hey! Where the fuck are you going?", he shouted at Sergio, who got a phone call and was going out. 

"I need to do something", he said, putting his jacket on.

"What's fucking more important than what we got at hand, what the fuck, Sergio? We have to call them"

"You do it. I'll be back right away"

He knows Sergio isn't particularly fond of sharing his moves with anyone, but he's ready to shoot him in the face.

But maybe later, right now he has to call to alert Andrés and make sure he wasn't in the room with the phone.

"I'll kill him. Whoever the hostage is", Andrés responded, not surprising him in the least.

"I doubt your brother will approve of that", Martín snickered. 

"Where is he?"

"Out. Don't do anything until he comes back and until we know which of you they got. Are you sure it's not you?",Martín repeated, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

"Do you think I'd have let this go under my nose, Palermo?", Andrés’ sour face glared at him through the screen, the anger seeping from the features.

"You already had", he hung up.

Perhaps he shouldn't have provoked him further, mocked his leadership like this. Or perhaps Andrés would have beaten up the kid anyway. He probably would have, Martín can't blame him. Getting Tokio and Río is much, much better than getting Andrés, but it still endangered everyone, it was still a thread they could pull to get to the others, all of them. And the fucking bitch dared to open her fucking mouth, thinking this heist is about her sick love story with a child. Martín wanted to reach through the screen and tear her throat out at the sight of her gun pointed at Andrés. He will fucking kill her.

He was itching for alcohol. He had already dealt with the withdrawal in Toledo, but right now he felt his insides grasping for it. But no, he reminded himself, he needed to stay alert, someone fucking has to.

He went for coffee instead, putting some  _ Beethoven _ on as well. He scanned the little library Sergio made and picked  _ El corazón de las tinieblas _ . He sat down to read, crossing his ankles on the disk.

But he couldn't even have this moment of peace. He wasn’t even through the third page when a call came from the mint.

"El professor?",Río asked.

"It's Palermo. What is it?"

The kid turned to Tokio, before asking "Where is the professor?"

"He's not here. What the fuck is it?"

"Berlín ordered the execution of a hostage"  _ oh for fuck's sake _

"Give him to me", he waited as Andrés' took the phone, holding his head high as he slowly picked it up from Río.

"Palermo", he smirked up at the screen. Andrés might not feel the crushing guilt, but despite what they think of him, he does feel it when he does something terrible, and overcompensates for it in his attitude, like a child taken to the headmaster.

"What happened?",he calmed his breath, he couldn't judge what Andrés did inside, not when he was hiding like a rat outside.

"She stole a phone, to get to the police. We couldn't let something like this happen, the others would only get encouraged. If they won't obey by choice, then we'll terrify them into it"

"Couldn't you have just faked the murder? It would have scared them all the same and we wouldn't have to deal with the blood. What happens when we send them in to life-check, then?", he paused, he could see through the screen how the others looked at Andrés, he wouldn't be the one to turn on him as well. Never. "but it's alright, it's okay, I'll deal with the professor"

Andrés nodded at him, a small smile forming on his face.

It's just Andrés and him. It's just them, against everything. Like it always has been.

Or that how he felt up until Moscu entered the office, and even without hearing the words coming out of their mouths, the look on his face, the maths of who was in the room and unlikely having done the deed, told Martín all he needed to know. He was so taken by his concern for Andrés and the plan, he didn't even ask about the woman's name, he didn't even ask about who did it. He guessed it was Helsinki or Oslo, maybe. It came down on him then, like a dark cloud that rains rocks. Martín ached more for Moscu than the boy Andrés' ruined his future. A hot-blooded child was all he was, not a murderer, Andrés couldn't understand the difference. A boy whom life didn't offer any better, and who was now doomed. There's nothing like the first kill. Martín knows so well the extent to which it fucks the person up. Despite everything, he didn't want that for Denver.

Neither did his father.

This is why he shouted at Andrés over the phone to let him be. To let him go to his son. Martín knows better than to interfere. Matters between fathers and sons should always remain between fathers and sons. And Andrés had already done enough. 

Andrés reluctantly listened to him. He doesn't take orders from anyone, but neither has ever gone far against the will of the other. Not considering those last two years at least.

It was a pretty uneventual day of reading and music until the phone rang late at night, disturbing the comfortable quietness between him and Sergio.

Martín's hand immediately flew to the phone.

"It's Palermo"

"Palermo", Andrés said, "Have you told the professor? señorita Tokio here doesn't trust you"

"I told you I'd deal with it", Sergio sat up at that.  _ Fuck _

"Give him to me"

"Berlín", Martín sighed

"I said", he said, "Give him to me"

Martín obliged, holding the phone out to Sergio, but pressed on the speaker.

Witnessing Sergio take the news isn't the end of the night he had wanted to experience. It pulled on the swelling of guilt gathering in his own body.

"Are you going to punish me? You should"

He's not surprised at Andrés' words. At his pushing provocation of Sergio.

This is Andrés after all.

He's pushing Sergio to choose the plan over him, to prove to himself that he's capable of betraying him, to confirm his sick theory that he would always be betrayed. To force Sergio too to let out the worst in him, taking him off the moral high ground he thinks he has. He understands this, Sergio has always looked at both him and Andrés as sick men, there were many times he wanted to break Sergio; to show him that they aren't any sicker than him. But not now, not when the one who'll play the price is Andrés.

He knows too, how Andrés has always yearned for any form of self-condemnation. He was always taken by the urge to throw himself in the abyss. 

Martín will be damned if he let it happen.

He was prepared for this since early in the morning when Río had told him.

Neither Sergio nor Andrés will have their way.

Sergio realized this early in the next morning, when he opened the cabinet of DNAs that he thinks he had hidden from Martín, and couldn't find his brother's.

"Palermo", he came to him. "Where is it?"

"Sergio, sit down and let's discuss this calmly", oh how their roles reversed.

"Give it to me or I'll find another way. You won't stop me"

Martín moved in front of the door and took out his gun. He raised it at Sergio. 

"You will not step out of here"

Sergio smiled then leaped at Martín. Before Martín could respond, Sergio twisted his arm, the one with the gun.  _ Fuck _ . Martín should have eaten better, he realizes now, unable to breathe. He took the gun out of his arm and made to move for the door when Martín jumped on his back.

He locked his arms around his throat and Sergio struggled with taking them off, or he distracted Martín by making him think so, when suddenly he was thrown over his head. Martín landed on his own back, hitting his head. Sergio made to move for the door, but Martín tripped him, and leaped off his back to pin him to the ground. He was out of breath. As was Sergio.

He kept his hold on Sergio's arms well, with his knee fixed on his stomach. 

"You'll condemn him you bastard", he cried, panting. "You'll ruin his fucking future. Isn't it ruined enough for you?"

"You still have delusions of the Gold. Do you think if I don't expose him, then you'll do it?", he spat, "This is all you care about"

"Even if I do, you have no right to hand him to the police like that"

"I'm not handing him, it's an acceptable punishment"

"No it isn't. They'll ruin his image, they're the fucking police, Sergio, how fucking naive are you? They'll do anything to make sure his reputation is worse than fucking Hitler, that no one sees him as the hero anymore"

"He killed a woman"

"They are all fucking up here, you can't punish him out of everyone. You knew him, Sergio. You  _ know _ him. You can't punish him for who he is"

"Get off me, Palermo or you'll be punished alongside him"

"No. No, it's not Palermo, it's Martín and this is your brother inside. It's your brother you trapped in this death hole, what did you expect? What did you really expect to happen? What good will this do now except give the police more leverage? He's doing this  _ for you _ , and you're out here trying to get his reputation ruined because he did something you knew very well he was susceptible to doing. And what do you think he'll react once he gets the news, hm? You will only make him more unstable, and he'll think he has nothing to lose. Do you think he'll obey the rules, then?", Martín inhaled, "Please, let it be"

Sergio had stopped trying to get out of Martín's grasp, panting and just staring at him.

"You'll not get to hurt him, Sergio. You'll have to kill me first, because if you as much as expose a hair of his, I'll not stop until the entire heist collapses on your head", Sergio glared at him, and tried to move, but Martín pressed more into his abdomen, causing a screech of pain "He's dying, Sergio, fuck, he's dying and you want to take from him the little he's got left", he paused, "He's got enough punishment as it is, don't you think?", he was aware of the tears welling up in his eyes.

He could see the register took hold of Sergio, the reminder of his brother's doom. He stopped fighting, and just looking at him, breathing hard.

He took off his hold on him and got up, then offered him his hand. Sergio stared at him for a second, then took it.

He fixed his clothes, taking his time to calm his breath, then turned to Martín. 

"Fine. Then this is your responsibility now. Find a way for me to cover this when the police enters for a life check in two days. If you don't, then I'll get him to confess on camera, with his face and identity. I'll get the others to force him, or throw him out to the police otherwise", Sergio declared.

Martín nodded, sighing in relief. He sat down and thought for a minute, then gestured for Sergio to take a seat.

"The inspectora will be the one entering, right?", Martín asked.

"Yes. It's time to get a recorder on them"

"Does she know what every single hostage looks like?"

"I don't think so. There are 67 of them. I suspect she only has a list of names"

"Well"

"Well what?"

"It's time to use Manila. No one knows she's inside. If things went accordingly, then she has been separated from everyone from the beginning. Neither the hostages nor the police know her face"

"I won't expose her. She won't pay for Berlín's mistakes. And Raquel will connect the dots later, she'll come across Monica's face and she'll be able to remember someone else claiming to be her" 

_ Raquel _

"There's a high chance she will, yes", Martín agreed, "But how likely it is she'll remember Manila's face, when none of the other faces match their respective names"

"What do you mean?", Sergio furrowed his eyebrows.

"Show every other hostage with the name of another, except the ones they already know, of course. By the end, she'll only care about their statements of wellness and the number on her list. She will never be able to remember who exactly pretended to be who, even if she passes by Monica's face and recognizes that she hadn't seen it"

Sergio took a moment. Martín could basically hear him think.

"That is if they even think about the possibility of us showing one of our own", he added.

"That's dancing on a very thin line"

Martín chuckled. "The entire heist is dancing on a very thin line, and it's on you then to distract her well enough", Martín winked and got up to the bed.

Martín had no doubt it would work. When they realize it, they'll be all far away from there.

But it turns out they don't have to. When they called Andrés the next morning to let him know the plan, he came with news of his own.

Apparently, Denver didn't kill the girl. Martín sighed at the relief, at the guilt dispersing away. The boy shot her and in an attempt to save her leg, tried to steal the medical kit from Andrés, where Nairobi saw him and went after him, to end up doing the surgery herself. It took hours before Andrés recognized the theft and traced it to them. 

Andrés told it to them over the phone as if it was a funny, elaborated plot from one of his movies. An amusing story, but even through the screen, Martín could see the look in his eyes, the uneasy smile, the tight jaw. It wasn't the sight of the curly-haired girl held like a bride that caught his attention, but the clouded eyes of Andrés. 

Martín sighed. If they took the medical kit, then they have seen the rexoil. Denver wouldn't understand the implication, maybe, but it wouldn't go past Nairobi. 

He wanted to smash the screen, reach out his arms to him and just hold him. They shouldn't be separated like this. Andrés shouldn't be inside dealing with life and death without him. This was in no way right. 

But when Sergio grinned at him, he only mirrored him. He'll see him again, those are just a few days, it doesn't matter.

In celebration, Martín put a record of  _ Bamboleo _ . Sergio laughed.

"Come, Sergio", he dragged his name, "Dance with me", Sergio shook his head, laughing, and went further away. But Martín pulled him, and soon enough he started mirroring Martín's moves, in the most possible worst way anyone could copy a dance move.

They danced for a while, all silly and absolutely ridiculous. Martín won't waste his best dance moves in this hideout, with Sergio out of all people.

Then they just sat there with their chinese food, watching the news break with the leaked record, plan Valencia; the fake shooting. the life-check, as if it were all a mere Soap Opera.

He watched Andrés. It doesn't bother him that he can't see his face under the mask, he can tell the state he's in from his movements, the nippling on the fingers, the tilt of his head. 

He doesn't mind the mask, Andrés' face is basically ingrained in his memory, he could see it even without seeing it.

But he dislikes it.

He shrugged away the scoff coming from him. He despises this man. A cruel lunatic. An asshole. A repressed, pitiful prick who made a fool out of the only man who has ever truly loved him.

"Who chose it?", he turned to Sergio.

Sergio glanced at him. "What?"

"The Dalí mask, was it you?", he paused, "or was it Andrés?"

Sergio blanked at him. "Neither. My father loved him. He was the only artist he ever loved so no one really chose him, he was just always there"

Martín nodded.

Sergio kept going and coming back, but Martín sat there fixed

He alerted them to Alison. He checked with Nairobi the state of the machines. He checked with Moscu the tunnels.

It all went smoothly inside.

So he focused on the outside, Sergio came back with tens of cider packets.

Well, that wasn't something he expected.

"Couldn't you have brought wine instead?"

Sergio glared at him. "It's not for us"

"What? Are we having a party?", Martín insisted.

"Look, just hide for a bit, okay?, he shifted nervously.

"No, I won't. Tell me what's happening", Sergio didn't answer, just unpacketed the cider.

"What is happening?", he repeated slowly.

Sergio sighed, opening his mouth to speak. Martín expected a lecture and stopped it. 

"You don't get to hide any part of the plan from me, Sergio. This isn't how it works. You'll have to accept that since I'm not inside, I'll be with you here step by step. What the fuck is this?"

"For Ángel, I'm sure he has a bad-"

Well, speak of the devil and he comes knocking. Martín stopped Sergio from moving towards the door. Sergio gave him a questioning look, that only got more unfathomable as Martín tok off his shirt and ruffled his hair. Long now as it is, he disheveled it entirely to cover his features partly -and well, for the look to get realistic.

"What the fuck are you doing?", Sergio whispered. Martín only kicked him, but the bastard muffled his cry. So Martín did it instead, loudly enough, and the scandalized look on Sergio's look is worth everything he went through for this heist. He pinched his neck hard enough and moved to open the door that had kept on knocking.

He opened it slightly, moving most of his body behind it and obscuring Sergio entirely.

He got another identical scandalized look. Ah, what a great day.

"I'm sorry, I thought I saw Salvo -Salvador Martín come inside. Isn't this his workshop?", Ángel asked, not quite looking at Martín.

Martín coughed, then mastered his best Castillian accent; untraceable, if you ask him. "It is, but he's…", feigning some timidity in his voice, "a little busy right now"

Ángel shifted awkwardly. "I see..", he dragged.

"Is it urgent?", he pouted slightly, "I could take a message", he added, innocently, mastering a small grin.

"No, no, uh, it isn't. It's okay, I'll pass by anytime later", Ángel hastened, Martín knew this wasn't going to happen "Sorry for, uh, interrupting", he added before he basically ran off. 

Martín closed the door and turned to Sergio, laughing. "Salvador Martín? Dalí's first name and mine?", he chuckled, "Why don't you just hand us to them?", he walked a little inside, still laughing and shaking his head.

Up until this second, Sergio had stood frozen, with parted lips. But as Martín made to get past him, he held his shoulder. "What the fuck was that?"

"What? I saved your ass", Martín smirked.

"No, you didn't, I already had the cider prepared"

"First off, this cider is so fucking obviously store-bought. Secondly, this way he doesn't get to roam around here. What would you've done if he just decided to be a rude guest and walked inside?"

Sergio glared at him, huffed and walked inside, then turned to him. "This jeopardizes the plan", he said, panting a little, "I can't cut ties with Raquel now-", he paused. "This wasn't according to the plan. I had the plan set and I expected you to follow it, you can't just improvise like that", he was barely comprehensible, speaking so fast, he didn't take a second in between to breathe and completely avoiding Martín's eyes. 

_ Raquel _

"Sergio, wake up", he snickered, "We've been improvising since we got here. How does this jeopardize the plan? You can still distract her, make up lies, say I'm a casual old fuckbuddy that showed up again. Disturb her with mixed signals, it's even a better distraction, if you ask me"

"Well, I'm not asking you", he scoffed and strode to the bed, like a bratty teenager. And like an insensitive parent, Martín followed him.

"Why are you so bothered? I threw him off", he shouted, "Now he'll think his suspicions accumulates to you playing her and not being the fucking mastermind of the heist", Sergio shifted awkwardly, his face redding, not meeting Martín's eyes. 

Martín narrowed his eyes, sat down in front of him.  _ Oh _

"Wait- no, no, that  _ is  _ what bothers you! What the actual fuck, Sergio?"

Sergio clinched on his jaws, tightening his fists. Still looking behind Martín, not turning to him, but his face was redding more and more.

"Really, Sergio? Out of, I don't know, every single other woman that exists, this is who you fall for?", Martín couldn't help but laugh. It's not bitter either. it's genuine. This is too absurd.

Sergio turned to him then. "You're the one to speak", he spat, then cracked a smile, as if he didn't expect himself to say this and hearing it out of his mouth surprised him. 

Martín broke into full laughter at this, Sergio joining him. Slumbering in the bed.

"Really, Sergio? The inspectora handling your case? The woman who desires nothing more in life than to put you behind bars? Didn't know you were a masochist"

"Really, Martín? The man who has been married 5 times, to _ women _ ? And you  _ have  _ put him behind bars"

He chuckled. It is ridiculous, might as well laugh about it.

Sergio turned to face Martín. "Why him?"

Martín was thrown off by the sudden question. Sergio eyed him, with new curiosity.

Many things have changed between them over the years, but the familiarity was still there, and the worst both tried to avoid had already happened; Andrés left Martín and Martín was now a part of the heist. All their cards were used and blown far by the wind. Now there is only Martín and Sergio, the little boy he watched grow up; the little boy who only had the chance to become more than a little boy because of Andrés' care and love. 

"He's the only one who speaks my language", Martín said simply. Sergio furrowed his eyebrows.

"Do you know how you can never convey a dream to anyone? You can tell the events, you can try and describe what happened, but you can never really convey the whole world that was in that dream?" 

Sergio nodded.

"With Andrés, I don't have to explain anything at all. Him and I dream in the same language", Sergio gazed at him, then slowly, one side of his lips turned up in a warm smile.

"You've always understood him better than I have", he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

Martín patted his shoulder and moved to make some tea.

To Martín's hope and to Sergio's fear, his little plan worked. They heard, through Raquel's earring, as Ángel went off frantically on 'Salvo', how he's no better than her ex-husband, how she was the one with a problem, the one incapable of being with a good man, not because there aren't any, but because she chooses the terrible ones. Because she might like it even, that she enjoys being the central victim. Martín grimaced a little and Sergio's face reddened in anger.

Sergio held out his phone, tightening his grasp on it until his knuckles whitened. He kept putting it on the table then holding it again.

"Sergio", he didn't turn to him. "There are ways to fix this, you know. Salvo and the inspectora aren't even dating yet. This doesn't mean anything", he sighed, and for the sake of the plan, he started. He told him what to do, what to say, and to Martín's bafflement, he listened to him.

He watched him call Raquel. He watched as he explained, with the occasional kick from Martín when he stops, how he decided to call her, to tell her about a revelation he had when 'an old friend' came by this morning, how Salvo realized that he didn't salvage any connection to his past anymore, that it could be considered ridiculous how deep the connection he has with her so soon, so deep that he's no longer interested in playing the field. That his old friend went back to Barcelona. At the end, she agreed to go out with him on the date. 

Martín prepared some coffee and put on a  _ Nick Cave _ record and took his seat in front of the screen. He won't sleep until Sergio comes back from his date. The thought makes Martín laugh. Sergio and date in the same sentence is strange enough of its own, but the reality of the situation they're in, the reality of Sergio's identity, is just too absurd. 

He was starting to doze off, when something on the screen captured his attention. A strange movement in one of the rooms. And just like with those shitty soap operas, his brain, for a few seconds, forgot that it knows this story very well, and still grasped at the action. He felt as if he thought it before it happened as if he watched Oslo fall in slow motion.

He grasped the phone.  _ Answer me. Fucking answer me. Answer you hijo de puta _

"Professor?", Berlín asked.

"They hit Oslo. They hit him on the fucking head with a pipe, Andrés. The fucking hostages. They have the explosives. They're running away. They're in the warehouse now. Fucking catch them."

Andrés hung up and ran. Martín stood up. He couldn't breathe.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

He clutched at his hair. Why are they moving so slow. Why are they so scattred. Fuck. He should be inside. They could hurt  _ him _ . They attacked Oslo, they could fucking hurt him.  _ Fuck _

He switched the cameras to the stairs and watched as Tokio, Nairobi and Río ran after Andrés down the stairs.  _ Fuck _

They got to them. God. Fuck. Andrés caught them in time.

He watched helplessly as the hostages tried fighting back; attack with the ridiculous tools they're carrying. The ridiculous tools that could kill. Martín used worth and still caused terrible damages. One stab with sharp scissors could get him.  _ Fuck _

Sergio walked in whistling. Martín must have looked like hell because he took one look at him and ran to the screen.

He watched as Denver and Helsinki joined. And ridiculously enough, the curly-hair girl showed up to the fight,  _ on their side _ . This must be some sort of an undercover thing. What the fuck.  _ Just fucking shoot them all. Kill them. _ He shouted in his head. Maybe loudly too, because Sergio glared at him.  _ Fucking kill them.  _ Andrés shot with the firearm in the air, and the hostages fell back, covering their heads.

"What the fuck is happening?", Sergio turned to him, panting.

"They tried to run away. They attacked Oslo"

On the screen, they're tying them up.

Martín fell on the bed and held his head between his hands. Breathing in and out. In and out. 

It was only moments later when he felt a tentative touch of a hand on his back. He looked up and Sergio looked as terrified as he felt.

"Were you the one who alerted them?", he asked softly.

Martín nodded. And Sergio mirrored him. "It's okay. It's fine now", he suspected he was telling this as much to himself as to him.

He snapped.

"No, it isn't fucking okay. They are attacking them inside. Do you know how easy it is to steal a gun? Snatch it and hold it to the leader's head? They'll fucking kill him inside, Sergio", he shuddred, shaking his head, tears were already streaking his face, "They"ll fucking kill him while we're cowering away. They're the ones facing the fucking bullets. What would have happened if I didn't notice? If I had gone to the fucking toilet for a minute? The police would have been inside now, blowing the heads off every single one of them"

Sergio didn't move nor utter a word. He simply stayed there, receiving Martín's outburst.

Martín sighed, dangling his head. "I should be inside", he added, wearly.

"They won't get killed, Martín. We will get them out. You already saved them tonight"

Martín turned to the screen, now focused on the office. He looked at Helsinki kneeling beside Oslo, at Moscu holding Nairobi. Then he turned to Sergio and shook his head. He took his pack of cigarettes and went for a walk.

When he came back, Sergio had already turned off all the lights and was lying on bed. Upon closer inspection, he found he wasn't asleep, but staring at the ceiling. 

Instead of getting up to his own bunk, he nudged him and laid on his side.

He crossed his arms on his chest and took a breath, staring at the ceiling.

"If anything happens to him, I'll kill you with my own hands, Sergio", he said softly.

Sergio was silent for a minute, then Martín heard his shuddered breath before he spoke. 

"Something tells me he'd have the same reaction if anything happens to you", it sounded  _ approving. _

He turned to him at that, eyes wide, but Sergio only had a smile in his eyes; acceptance, before forming a little one on his face.

Martín turned to the ceiling and swallowed. "You were with her all night", it wasn't a question. "I won't speak about risking the plan, you know that too well. But, Sergio", he turned to him again.

Sergio looked vulnerable then, perhaps more vulnerable than when Martín had first met him and he was basically a child. 

He curated his tone to his highest carefulness. "Hermanito, you're following an impossible love", Sergio turned to the ceiling, he could see the body's rejection of the words, the heightened beating, slow eyes. He patted him on the arm softly, then moved to the upper bed and tried to sleep.

He only dreamed of beautiful paintings with bullet holes.

__________

Early in the morning, Sergio got a phone call and left right away. Martín sighed. And called Andrés. 

Andrés only stared at the camera and shook his head softly when he asked about Oslo.

They called later in the afternoon, asking for the professor. Andrés stared at the camera for a long moment and Martín understood. He saw as Andrés clicked on the speaker. 

"You missed him, he just went out, right before you called", Andrés nodded at him, smiling, and even though he can't see him, Martín returned it.

On the third call, he asked for Helsinki, when it was all clear and well past beating around the bush.

Andrés frowned at the camera for a second then nodded, holding up the phone to Helsinki.

"Helsinki", he breathed, Helsinki looked up to him, his lips trembling. Andrés ordered the others in the room out and walked to the window himself, but didn't get out of the room "I'm so sorry, I should have realized what was happening earlier, I should have warned you before they attac-"

Helsinki shushed him. "You did what you could, you gave us enough time to prevent disaster", he smiled softly at the camera, "You protected us, Palermo"

Martín sighed, rubbing his eyes "What was his name?"

Helsinki looked at the camera for a minute, eyes glinting. "Radko Dragić "

Martín nodded. "It was an honor knowing him.", Helsinki nodded back, swallowing hard. "I'm going to get you out, Helsinki. Do you hear me? No matter what happens, okay? No one else is dying inside. No one", he said sternly, hoping the determination in his voice would give truth to the words.

Helsinki nodded, smiling up. "I'll see you at the end of the tunnel, Palermo", Martín's heart ached at the visible love lacing his voice as he said his name.

Andrés was standing beside Helsinki, eyes on the camera. He couldn't see Martín, but he still felt as if he looked straight into his soul.

The fourth call was the least pleasant. The last voice he wanted to hear. 

"Tokio"

"Where is the professor?"

"Looks like you missed him again. He's out"

"He's caught by the fucking police, isn't he? And they are going to catch you next", she panted, "Or you're already planning to run away, to leave us here to die, no?"

"No one is running away. The professor is alright, he cutting some loose ends, that's all", perhaps his own fear had seeped into the voice, because it didn't sound convincing, not even to him. He hasn't heard of Sergio for the entire day. He's playing too close with fire.

Tokio threw away the handle and barged out of the room. Andrés picked it up. There was no one else now.

Martín sighed deeply. "I don't know where he is. I don't know what's happening, Andrés, I don't know what your brother has gotten himself into, and I can't risk leaving to look for him, I can't risk leaving you", he rubbed his forehead. 

"Martín", he closed his eyes, "Listen to me well, if he's not back by the 24th hour, leave. Run. Run and don't look back"

Martín shook his head. "What the fuck are you saying? I'm not leaving without you"

Andrés shook his head. "One of us should always get out, remember?"

Martín laughed, wiping his eyes. "Yes, it's your turn"

Andrés shook his head softly, rubbing his temples. "Maybe I will, you'll still have Helsinki at 'the end of the tunnel', no?", he raised his eyebrows.

Martín snorted. "You're a fucking bastard"

It only took a few hours for everything to go to hell. Sergio has apparently just run off into the sunset with the inspectora. And Martín had to deal with all of it on his own.

The next thing he knows, Tokio is sent off to the police.

"Pardon me, but I don't seem to remember that part of the plan", he said to Andrés.

"She lost her mind, went completely nuts"

Now, rage has always been Martín's loyal companion. It's his earliest memory of childhood, his devoted lover that could never walk away entirely. Martín accepted it, embraced it, dealt with it, with all its extremes and nuances.

But never had he felt it colonize his body like that. He couldn't even hear Andrés' voice on the other end, the last thing he processed was 'Russian roulette'. 

He barely registered Sergio coming back and holding his shoulders, taking inaudibly to him.

"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to fucking kill her", he repeated.

Sergio started to say something but suddenly turned to the screen. Where Andrés had a gun to Río's head.  _ Good _ .  _ Let him kill him. _

Sergio pushed to call, but none of them moved from their position. He tried another time, then hung up and called the inspectora. 

He hung up and turned to Martín. "What the fuck is happening?"

"This fucking bitch played Russian roulette with him tied to a chair. She was going to kill him, Sergio, while breaking his fucking medicine"

Sergio took a moment, then nodded, calling them again. Martín pushed the speaker button. 

Andrés was explaining the situation where suddenly his voice was cut off. Martín ran to switch the screens as Nairobi's voice came. 

"He's indisposed. I'll be taking charge"

"You hit him, hija de puta. You fucking cracked his head. I'm going to kill you, Nairobi. Listen to me well, you better pray to not get out of there because when I get my hands on you, the fucking angel of death will be disgusted by the sight I'll leave you with", Martín screamed at the phone. 

He could see Nairobi tilt her head back and look up with disbelief at the camera. Sergio turned off the speaker. Martín tried to snatch it from him, but he kept it away, and in an attempt to retrieve it, Martín accidentally hit him, and Sergio winced, visibly in much more pain than an accidental smack should do. Martín took a few steps back and narrowed his eyes at him. Sergio ignored him and went on to tell Nairobi some bullshit.

When he put the phone down, Martín hastened to him, and before he could react, opened his shirt, where there were deep bruises that only knuckles and knees made of rock could achieve.

Martín stared at them, then took his eyes to his face. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"It's all part of the plan", Sergio said.

"No. No, this isn't part of the plan. Since when getting your ribs broken is a part of the plan. Who did this to you?"

"No one. As I said, it was part of the plan. To deal with a loose end", he pushed Martín's hands away and closed the shirt.

"Sergio. What the fuck is happening out there?"

"Raquel's ex managed to get a piece of paper from the chimney. I had to deal with it", he admitted.

Martín took a moment, then nodded. He took off and came back a minute later with ice.

"Lay back", he ordered.

"Palermo", Sergio started.

"Lay back. I won't return you to your brother like that"

Sergio chuckled. And obliged, maybe not out of Martín's words, but his own pain.

He held the ice to his abdomen. Sergio sighed in relief. He seemed young to him at this moment.

"You should get some sleep", he moved the ice to another bruise.

"When was the last time  _ you _ slept?", Sergio opened one eye.

"It doesn't matter. I have to be alert"

"Martín, nothing bad happened to him. The charge was just taken from him, you realize this isn't the worst thing in the world, right? For either of you"

"Oh, really?", Martín said, "How would you like it if I smash your head, tie you to this bed and just go about taking all control from you"

"You wouldn't know what to do"

"And Nairobi would?"

"Let them sort it out between themselves. We should take care of here"

Martín reluctantly agreed. He had some sleep too, Nairobi later called him with questions of the production and the machine, and after promising her demise at his hands a couple of times, he told her what to do, which she followed.

Sergio left at night, and Martín spent the night with interval sleeps. Getting up every three hours to check on them.

Sergio came back at noon. They decided that it was a good time for plan Cameron and called the others to let them know.

"Who do you think will do the interview?", he turned to Sergio, knowing very well that it'll be Andrés.

"If you were inside, you would have been the one to do it, no?", Sergio smiled, one side turning slightly before the other. 

"Oh, I prefer theatre over the television", Martín laughed.

When he had first met them, for a certain period, they had focused nearly entirely on auction houses. All kinds of them. Nearly every single time, Martín played the auctioneer. Andrés could move an audience, pull their heartstrings, or demand fear and respect. But Martín could captivate them, not even they would know why they can't take their eyes off. So, perfect for the job, really. He would go up there, capture their attention by his moves. Sergio would only be behind the scenes and Andrés would be either the winning gentleman or the original owner. 

They were younger then, less restricted, with life still pouring heavily out of them, like a newborn cloud. He smiled at the memory, and judging from the nostalgic glint in Sergio's eyes, he knew he was playing the same memories.

A naive smile was plastered on his face until it was knocked off by Andrés. 

Andrés, who simply, in a dramatic gesture, took off his mask on camera, in a live interview, and gave his full name. 

Sergio stiffened on his side. Martín gave a shaky breath. Moving closer to the screen.

He watched Andrés give a performance of surrendering, of giving his identity as a gesture of good well; real proof of surrender, he said.

He didn't stop there, he talked about his death;  _ his coming death _ on public television.

He knows Andrés needs to take full control of his image. And that is a much better reveal for him, than the hostages giving his description. Martín could understand the logic of it, as if Andrés' thoughts were formed in his own head, but he still couldn't stop his hand from punching the wall until the knuckles split open.

But well, he calmed himself. As always. Sergio sat opposite him, cleaning his knuckles as they watched the screens. And because he must have offended God in his past life, the next thing they see is a hostage moving to open the door, and the bank manager holding a gun to Denver's head. 

_ Fuck, not this again _ .

Sergio tightened his grasp on his hand, and Martín could barely breathe when the curly-haired hit the man on the head.

"Wait- what was that?", he turned to Sergio, breathing again. Sergio just shook his head. Martín was baffled. Is she some sort of a double spy? What the fuck is happening inside?

He just let out a laugh of relief. Sergio looked at their intertwined hands and chuckled, Martín mirroring him. The sound of their laughter erupted even more laughter. Martín held his stomach, bowing down, then glanced at their still intertwined hands and snorted again. 

Sergio made them some pasta. Martín pretended to eat.

"Aren't you hungry?", Sergio asked.

"Yes, yes, I am"

"Well, eat then", Martín nodded, taking a large portion with his fork.

"I just don't feel like pasta, how about you get us some pizza?", he smiled, his half-chewed food still in his mouth.

"You're a bastard. I don't exactly have the perfect kitchen here", Sergio snickered, but he still got up and went out.

Martín waited for him. They ate, played some chess, and went back to the screens, as they were having coffee. 

They switched to the office, where Andrés was laying with his head in the lap of some girl. Martín leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his mug.

After a moment, Sergio tapped his shoulder lightly. "Why don't you sleep for a bit? I'm keeping my eyes on them", Martín didn't understand for a second, still deep in his thoughts, but then there was the apologetic glint in Sergio's eyes. 

He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a snicker, but a full-on laugh, throwing his head backward.

"I was the best-man in three of his weddings, Sergio. I can't even count on both hands the number of women I've seen him with", Sergio didn't laugh, nor respond, but still looked at Martín like  _ that _ . "Really, Sergio, this is nothing"

He took a moment, then nodded at Martín, before getting up, grabbing his jacket.

"Well, watch over them well. I'll be right back"

Martín smiled and gestured for him to leave.

It was only a couple of hours later when the phone Sergio left behind rang. He let it ring the first time but answered when it started again.

He didn't say anything.

"El professor?", the voice on the other end asked.

"Tokio", he made no attempt to hide the contempt.

"Palermo? Where is the professor?"

"He's out at the moment. Where are you?", he pulled out a pin and a paper, "Tell me your exact location"

Tokio obliged. He met her halfway, with different clothes and a baby carriage. He contemplated pulling out a stray cat and just dumping it in there, but that would be too much.

They went back to the hideout together, walking leisurely, crossing arms. Martín wanted to cut off his arm after that.

Every couple of minutes, he would bow down his head a little and say something, and Tokio would laugh, sweet and disgusting. They were in the middle of one of those, when Martín opened the door and let her inside.

The moment he was in, he closed the door with his leg and held her by the throat. She grappled in his arms, until he held her higher then threw her on the ground, launching on her. Pulling her hair back, and putting a pocket-knife against her exposed throat. She was gasping for breath, but Martín could barely see.

"You nearly killed him, hija de puta. Give me one fucking reason right now why I shouldn't play Russian roulette with your fucking face, eh? Tap you to the wall and just throw the fucking knife, until your entire fucking face is ruined"

She tried to move, but Martín had already pinned her legs against the floor with his knee. 

"What? Is his dick that good?", she coughed and Martín took her throat by hand again.

He might have killed her if the professor hadn't shown up. He doesn't know whether he would have stopped. He doesn't even remember choking her, until he saw Sergio's hands on his own prying them away.

He stood up, his legs shaking. He brushed his hair back, some of it escaping his fingers and sliding down again  _ fuck, he should cut it _ . Sergio was kneeling on the floor by her side. 

Martín was panting. "If you as much think about coming near him again, you fucking bitch, I'll tear your throat out, do you hear me?"

"Get some fucking ice", Sergio turned to him, "MOVE"

Martín nodded and obliged.

Sergio stayed with them, taking care of Tokio for a couple of hours before leaving again.

"If either of you lay a finger on the other, I'll hand you to the police myself and this time, I will  _ not  _ get you out, am I clear?"

He stared at both of them, standing by the door, looking down on them like a teacher with misbehaving students.

"Am I clear?", Tokio nodded.

"Palermo?", he mirrored the gesture.

When Sergio went out, Martín called Andrés, who was back in control. 

"Tokio's with me. The professor is dealing with loose threads. How are things in there?"

"Perfect", he smiled at the screen and Martín returned it, feeling as if he could see him.

Sergio came back later when Tokio had fallen asleep. She had ignored him for the entire day, both had reached a silent agreement not to speak to the other.

Sergio checked on her, then sat beside Martín. "Do you sleep at all?", he smiled but Martín could tell the smile wasn't directed at him but deep in his memories.

"Sergio", he leaned in, patting Sergio's knee. "Stop now. There are no threads. You've done your job with her. Four to six more days and we're leaving. What are you doing?"

Sergio fidged in his chair, escaping his eyes. "No. Look at me", he took a sharp breath, "You'll mess up. Her ex is crazy and will soon start following you. Ángel is crazy and will start following you as well. You'll slip and say something, one day she might follow you here"

"I'm careful"

"No, you're not. You can't be careful here, Sergio. No one can. You'll doom as all, you'll doom her as well. What do you think will happen? That she'll abandon her life and follow you?"

Sergio bowed his head, rubbing at his forehead. It hit Martín then, how what he's doing now, is the exact thing Sergio did nearly two years ago.

"Do you think that you'll be able to follow her, would you even choose to?"

He looked up at him, his eyes beaming.

"Are you going to tell me the story of how leaving behind is a much more noble and difficult thing to do than simply following?", he chuckled softly.

"Is that what he told you?"

Sergio raised his eyebrow. "Sergio, Andrés and I were doomed from the beginning", he gave him a pat and stood up.

After Sergio had fallen asleep, Martín called them again.

"Has Moscu started with the tunnel?"

"Yes"

"Good. Good. And Nairobi? Are the machines fine?"

"They are. Everything is working perfectly. You can rest"

"Just", he sighed, leaning in, and lowering his voice. "Hurry up with the tunnel, okay? It's the top priority right now"

"Palermo", Andrés took a breath, "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Your way out should be safe and ready in case anything happens"

Andrés stared at him for a moment through the camera, then slowly nodded.

He closed the screens and huddled next to Sergio since the other bitch took his bed and he would rather stay awake until his eyes fall off than sleep next to her.

Sergio made them coffee and brought some cookies for breakfast. They stretched there with the dim light, drinking their coffee in the lazy quiet morning. Sergio was in a dramatically better mood than either him or Tokio.

"Tokio, you understand that in absolutely no circumstances you can even step a single toe outside. This isn't like even getting out of the bank, if they track you here, you'll ruin the escape plan for  _ all _ of us", he paused, "Including Río"

Well, the boy learned some tricks.

Tokio tightened her fists then nodded.

"So what now? Do we just sit here doing nothing?"

"We'll keep giving dead ends to the police. They think they're a hair away since they have the identity of the leader. This will keep them distracted, but not for long"

They spent the morning with Tokio telling them all that happened inside. Sergio then called the inspectora, who started having suspicions that he wasn't the one who freed Tokio if he's inside. 

There were only very slight suspicions before that someone was helping them from the outside. It's getting nearer now.

They listened as Raquel and Angel argued. They listened as they worked together in rhythm. They listened as they decided against trying to defame Andrés as he already showed himself and admitted to the crimes he did and to his dying state.

It's a smart move, defaming a dying man who surrendered would only make them look worse. Andrés trapped them by showing himself.

Martín took his book and leaned back.

"I'm surprised you can read", Tokio said from where she was laying on the bed. 

"You should make your blows smarter, Tokio. I have a master's in engineering. Talk to me when you even complete high school"

"Intelligence and quick-mindedness has nothing to do with school"

He sighed, looking up from his book. "And you don't have those either, what is your point?"

"And you do? They haven't prevented you from falling for a straight man who doesn't want you"

Martín took a sharp breath. "They haven't caused me to fall for a child either. Doesn't it disgust you, knowing that you can't be with anyone with an ounce more of maturity, because not a single man with self-respect or experience would take a second glance at you, and you have to settle for children?"

Sergio came in then and both of them turned to him.

After a bit, Martín asked. "Who's next?"

"We should leave them time to deal with Andrés first. Stretch it out as much as we could"

They did. And they also became nearly certain someone was helping them from Madrid.

It took them 7 days before everything started going to hell. They stretched it out, resolting to exposing Denver at last. It was a good card that distracted the entire country. When he told Martín over the phone of the developments between him and the hostage, Martín knew that they could buy themselves some good time with it. 

"Are you sure that you're willing? This is something you can never back from. To the police, you'll be as much of a criminal as any of us. And to the mental institutions, you'll probably be as sick as the rest of us", Martín told her. 

The girl nodded, assured.

The story erupted in the country. Martín was glad he didn't push Andrés to kill Arturo after the first attempted escape. What they have used him for now is much better.

They did a whole other show of releasing the CEO among some a couple of others (After Helsinki tortured him with the bombs for two days) and exposing his snitching on his fellow hostages; ruining their escape plan in an attempt to get the robbers to give him money, causing one member to get killed and the others to remain hostages.

And just like in a soap opera, the people forgot the main plot, the main villains and fell for the trap Martín set. They were captured by the drama, the relationship, the statements of Arturo that were debuted by his own ex-lover. Her dramatic monologue that she would rather her son grow up in prison or with robbers rather than with this man. 

Martín could see she wasn't entirely truthful, she still held something for the man, but it was clear where her loyalty laid now. And well, stretching it out would only get her more money.

It was a captivating plot, but no matter how long they tried to stretch it, the story would always go back to its center and the police learned to remain focused. They wouldn't fall for any more traps.

Sergio's growing entrapment with the inspectora brought the police way too close to them, just as Martín had predicted.

Ángel took his fingerprints through an encounter. The fact that Sergio basically doesn't exist grew their suspicions. They listened as both Ángel and her ex tried to convince her that it was him, to give them permission to follow him; interrogate him. When Martín heard the hesitation in her voice, he knew they were fucked.

It would only take her too long to face reality. But she will, at the end.

And before he realized what was happening, they had already brought the two Serbs to start digging from their side. He sent Sergio to the garage he rented for the entire day, as Ángel was following him, while Tokio and he helped with the tunnel.

In no other circumstances would Martín do work like this, he was an engineer, an artist, this was in no way suitable for him. But there was no time, it was growing too dangerous and Andrés and the others would be trapped to die in there.

They had printed nearly 1440 million so far, no way near the number they planned for. But Martín wouldn't let his own greed trap them again.

He called Andrés every 3 hours to check on both the tunnel and the machines. 

Sergio came back when they were nearly done reaching the other side, about 10 hours later.

He pulled Martín up and took him to the side. "They know I'm involved, Martín. They know it. They are coming for us"

Martín took a breath and nodded. "I'll call Andrés. Get out of here and don't come back until we're done"

Sergio shook his head. Martín held his shoulder. "No, listen to me. If it comes down to it, don't come back at all. Run. Run and don't them catch you, I'll be here, I'll meet them at the hanger"

Sergio just stared at him, panting. "Does Raquel know?", Martín asked.

"Nearly"

"Was it you?", Martín asked softly.

Sergio didn't say anything. "You were trying to leave her clues, you want her to follow you", Martín said. It wasn't a question.

Sergio looked down, shaking his head. "Not to here-", Martín stopped him, sparing him the explanation. He just spread out his arms and Sergio went into them, he put one hand on the back of his head and patted his back. Sergio looked like he was about to break apart.

"Let's get your brother out of there, hm?", he drew away, cupping his face. Sergio nodded, the tears didn't fall. "You need to get rid of Ángel. Now"

Sergio drew a sharp breath and nodded. He knew.

The 4 of them worked for hours, taking little rests, after Sergio went. They were all sinking in frustration and they got it all out on the tunnel. There was a strange feeling to it, going up and down, destroying the tunnel, carrying the rocks up. It was like an alternate, darker version for when they were renovating their monastery. Or that what it looked like to Martín now.

Sergio came back hours later, he strode through the door. Martín stared at him and he nodded. He drew a breath of relief.

They worked on the tunnel for a while before the phone rang. They must have found Ángel then. Sergio answered, still playing the Professor. Martín went after him and put on the speaker. 

Dread filled him at hearing the tired voice of the colonel. Martín understands finality and the sound of it. This wasn't the voice of a man who was willing to play their games anymore. He informed Sergio that they know that he tried to kill Ángel for knowing where he is, that they got the general area and were now checking every single house. 

It took hours before they started hearing the voices from the other side. It was completely muffled still, but the more they broke the walls, the more they could hear distinct voices. 

"Río, Río, is that you?", Tokio screamed at the wall, leaning to put her hands on it.

Martín drew her back and they continued breaking it. They kept going at it, nearly not stopping at all until the end.

When they opened the first hole, the first face he saw was Denver's, with his girl with curls behind them. Denver reached out his hands to Martín, nearly crying with joy. 

"I'm going to marry her" was the first thing he told him. Martín doesn't know what it is about him that would pull anyone ever to say this to him. "You can call her Stockholm now, if you want", he laughed his horrendous laugh.

Sergio laughed beside him, and reached out to Denver himself. They pried away the stones in between them. 

"Professor, you should be the godfather"

Sergio chuckled. "We can see about this later, Denver"

"It seems like a good moment now", he turned to his girl, "What do you think?", then turned to Martín before she answered, "And you'll be the other godfather"

"A child only gets one godfather", Martín said, nonchalantly, after choking on his own saliva.

"Yes, but you're gay", Denver said, as if it explained anything.

Moscu slapped him on the head, reaching out for Martín himself. Martín smiled at him, he was genuinely glad to see him again.

"Like in gay marriage, the kid would have two fathers, no?", Denver didn't let it go.

Both Sergio and Martín just stared at him. 

"Like, if you and el professor were a couple, you'd be my boy's godparents"

At this both Martín and Sergio just lost it. Moscu slapped Denver's head again, barely suppressing his own laughter. "Take the stones up, go", he shouted at his son and Denver obliged. The girl on his side, as Moscu kept breaking the wall from his side.

Martín kicked the last stone. He was going to go inside, but stepped to the side and let Sergio in first.

It's his.

He followed him, Tokio on his heels.

Before he was even able to stand, Moscu pulled him in a hug, Martín laughed and slapped him on the back.

He went up the ladder.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw him.

It was so overwhelming all he could do was stand and just take him in, panting, as Andrés held his brother. He ruffled his hair and when he opened his eyes, Martín was there. 

They gazed at each other for a long moment, and then Andrés lips went up in a smile; one side slightly before the other. It was the most beautiful thing Martín had ever seen; gorgeous and bright.

Sergio pulled away and Martín barely even gave him the chance to move before he launched himself at Andrés. Andrés laughed, but pulled him closer; held him as tightly.

He let himself take it in. The familiar touch of his arms around him, the movement of his muscles under Martín's touch, his  _ smell _ . And let all the fear he held vaporate out of him. He was  _ so scared _ . He didn't seem to realize how scared he was until he held him in his arms.

Martín sighed into his neck.

He pulled back to see Helsinki standing on his side. Despite his build, he looked strangely small at this moment, smiling tentatively at Martín. 

Martín smiled at him, and he grinned, drawing him in a hug; nearly carrying him off the floor. 

"Hey, big guy", he drew back, patting him on the arm, then he turned to Andrés who was watching them. 

"Give me a tour?", he smirked.

Andrés softly chuckled, then stood back a little and gestured for Martín. Martín took his place by his side and they walked together.

He took them to the machines. Martín took a lying mask, and put it on. Andrés laughed. He pushed it up and looked at the machines printing.

Now this heist holds nothing against their own, and while Martín grew fond of it over the last 5 months and specifically the last 7 days, he knows neither him nor Andrés will hold anything else closer to their hearts than the gold. 

But there was something nearly surreal about being inside now. Watching the machines print their money, watching the bank populated by people in red. Their own and the others. For better or for worse, this heist has been a shadow in their life for nearly the entire period he knew them. It ran deep in the soil of their lives from the very start, in many ways it was part of all three of them, Martín realized now, he could have never been able to fight it, or replace it, or reject it. It was theirs; no matter the pain its very existence caused all three of them in different ways. Their father's death, Andrés' choice and Martín's wound, and Sergio's life all came down to this sight in front of him. It was inevitable, like he understands his life is now. It held in it a certain closure for a long, exhausting chapter which they all needed. 

He turned to Andrés on his side, who had been standing just looking at Martín. Andrés smiled at him and Martín understood that he was thinking of the same thing.

He looked to see Nairobi walking towards them, Sergio on her side.

She let Sergio stand beside them, then tilted her head. "Come"

They followed her, where she opened a door and let them inside. Sergio and Martín strode in, Andrés on their heels.

"1448 million euros", Nairobi said behind them.

He stared at the money crowding the room. Innumerable bags filled with green rolls. He turned to Sergio, who was already teary-eyed, and Andrés on his side. They shared a long look. It was nearly overwhelming.

"1448 million euros", Sergio muttered. Then he muttered it again, like a mantra. 

Martìn understood what this held for him, after all these years.

He patted Sergio on the back, saying it back at him, laughing; incredulous.

Sergio went back to the hanger. Nairobi turned to them. "Have you stopped the machines yet"

Nairobi shook her head. "I only need 15 minutes to reach 1500 million"

"No", Martín said sternly. "It's time to stop the machines and clear the records"

"We could make 500 bills?"

"Absolutely not, who do you think we are?", Martín exclaimed at the same time Andrés said, "Why do you insist on insulting my tastes?"

Nairobi stared at both of them for a second, then raised her arms up in defeat and walked away muttering.

"I'll deal with her", Andrés smiled, "Go to Sergio"

Martín did.

He wasn't even up, when he heard Sergio telling Andrés on the phone that the assault units are there, that they need to transport the money. But that wasn't what caught his attention, it was the sight of Sergio with a gun to his head.  _ Fuck _

He held his breath.

"Get up, slowly", the inspectora ordered Sergio. When he turned, he glanced at Martín, it was just for a second, but Martín understood and went down again. The Serbs were there, they will take care of him.

Martín needed to get the others to move.

He hurried inside, where they had already started transporting the money. Good. Good.

He looked for Andrés. He found him with Nairobi in the office. He strode to them, hearing Nairobi's laughter and the words before he was even in.

"No, no, under your command, weddings with hostages are planned"

Martín froze. 

Nairobi was in the middle of going on when she noticed him and stopped. Andrés turned. 

"Haven't you heard, Palermo? He's going to get married on the beach, dressed in white", she laughed; bitter and cruel.

He didn't leave his eyes off Andrés. He couldn't if he wanted to. Just like he wanted to move, but his legs refused him.

"Tell him, Berlín, and tell him too, how this woman will remain with you until you kick the bucket, to take all your money, and finally say it your face, how every time you raped her, she went to the bathroom to vomit"

At this Andrés turned to Nairobi.

Finally, Martín found the capability to move. He strode out of the door, barely seeing where he's going. 

He found himself with Río, holding the explosives. He needed to do something with his hands, he needed to breathe. He needed to tap those explosives to Andrés' body and blow him up.  _ The fucking bastard.  _

"Palermo, Palermo", Río shook him, "Are you okay?"

Martín nodded.

"Are you sure? You look like you're having an anxiety attack"

"I'm fucking fine, let's get going. There is no time"

Martín put on the headpiece, as they hanged the explosives. "Sergio, you have her?"

"I let her go"

"You fucking what? That's not what they fucking meant when they say if you love something, let it go, Sergio. Jesus fucking christ"

"She had the news about Ángel. I had to let her go to him"

Martín sighed. "They'll get her at the hospital, Sergio. She'll tell them where we are"

"Get the rest of the money and start moving. Now"

Martín turned to Río and Tokio. "Get the rest of this"

He had only begann running when he heard the explosives. 

Río screamed.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck _ . They are inside. The fucking police.

Martín had barely turned around when he got a bullet to the arm. The pain wouldn't distract him. He pulled his mask down and shouted at Río pulling his firearm with the other hand. And started shooting.

_ God. He missed this _

In the middle of it, Río and Tokio were going on about their Island.  _ Those fuckers _ . "C'mon, to the fucking door"

Martín ran, covering them. Or at least tried to. They got Tokio down. Río screamed and went for her, begging the police to stop shooting.

Martín kept shooting from behind the wooden crane, but they were too much with the girl on the floor. He couldn't keep them by himself.  _ Fuck _

He tried to cover Río, pulling him with Tokio to the back, while shooting with the other hand. He doesn't even have a vest on,  _ fuck _ .

Just when he thought he was going to die there for  _ this hijo de puta _ and his fucking money and band of idiots, two of the idiots showed up, covering Martín.

Denver and the girl. She glanced at Tokio's gun on the floor and Martín kicked it to her, nodding. She took it and started shooting.  _ What has she been doing seceratring, this is her place _ . He smiled at her and Denver and ran to the door, shooting as he went.

"Run", he screamed at them, "Run, NOW"

He led them to the back. "Denver, Stockholm, with me to the vault", Denver nodded at him and Tokio took Río and ran to the other side, to the hostages.

Denver stopped him. He took off his shirt, and tried to tie on Martín's arm.

"You know the infections in this could cost me my entire arm, right?"

Denver stopped, and looked at him with a puzzling look.

"Why would it be infected? It's my shirt. Do you think I'm sick or something?"

"Let's just keep moving, c'mon"

They ran to the vault. They started moving the rest of the money as Martín went up.

"Sergio", he breathed, Sergio pulled him up the ladder. Then moved quickly around the room. He came back with bandages. 

"We'll get it out on the ship", he assured Martín as he tied his arm.

"I know. Let's get them up, we need to leave now", he said as Denver and Stockholm made it up.

Sergio nodded at him. Sergio moved to help with the money, Martín received it from him and gave it to the serbs to put it in the car.

Then Tokio and Río came out. 

"They made it to the basement. The police", Rìo screamed as Denver pulled him up, out of breath.

"Come, get out", he screamed at him. He did and Tokio followed. Martín waited for a minute.

He counted.

Uno. Dos. Tres. 

Only Nairobi made it up. Martín pulled her. 

"Helsinki is with Berlín. He wants to stay behind", she told him, out of breath.

Martín took to the ladder. Only turning to Sergio once. "If we're not up in two minutes, blow the tunnel"

"Martín", Sergio screamed at him. But Martín was already half-way down.

He crawled through the tunnel. His heart was going to stop, he could feel it. This fucking bastard. This fucking bastard.

The next thing he heard was Helsinki's muffled voice.

"You're coming with us, even if I have to carry you myself. Man look-", Martín heard as he took to the ladder, Andrés interrupted him. "Helsinki. If they come through the tunnel, we're all dead. This is an order. GO"

But Helsinki only fought back, Andrés was now speaking to him in Russian, ordering him, judging from his tone.

Martín came out, out of breath and ran at Andrés.

"I told you you're not going to die in this fucking place, do you not take me for a man of my words, Andrés?", he tried to pull him, but he resisted, "Martín, they'll kill us-"

"Helsinki, do you have a mask?", Helsinki brought one from the vault. Martín took it and handed it to the girl. "Go up, we'll come after you", he nodded at Helsinki.

He hesitated. "We will. This is a promise, okay?", Helsinki nodded.

"Wear this and go to them, then shoot from the trench. When it's time, take off your mask and tell them that you're a hostage, that we made you do this. If you stop before we're out, the tunnel will blow on all of our heads, you included, understand?", she only responded by crying. Martín took out his gun and held it to her head, "Go" 

She turned to Andrés, who stood frozen, then walked away, shaking.

Andrés turned to him. "It won't be enough, Martín"

"Then I'll stay with you", Andrés shook his head. At this they heard their footsteps, Martín turned to the girl.

He and Andrés hid behind the wall, he pointed her gun at her when he heard them entreating, and held Andrés back with the other hand.

Then she started shooting.

After a moment, he took Andrés' hand and ran to the tunnel, where they could still hear the shooting.

He pushed Andrés before him and they crawled as fast as they could. But Martín still felt it too slow. 

He pushed Andrés out of the ladder and he pulled him. He held him and couldn't stop the tears then, not just of what he felt in those cursed few moments, but for all the fear and frustration he felt when he was outside and Andrés inside, for the pain he went through those 5 months, and the death that ate away at him when Andrés left him. It all somehow accumulated to this. And he was alive. Alive and breathing under his touch.

"Blow the tunnel, Helsinki", Andrés ordered, not letting go of Martín.

A moment later they pulled apart. They started dressing.

Just before Andrés and him left, he pulled a bag of the money he pulled with him and handed it to the Serbian woman.

"Burn the entire place before you go"

Andrés raised an eyebrow at him, "Sly bastard", he whispered and smiled.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some things that could be explained. The medical team plus Angel don't come into the mint because in this version when Moscu goes to Denver, Denver explains what happened then since Berlin isn't there so no trying to get out of the mint and no scene on the roof and no Arturo getting shot. 
> 
> if anything isn't clear or you don't get why it happened differently just ask in the comments. Thank you for reading!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'n posting this earlier than planned (I also divided this chapter) because today is a pretty great day. ITS RAINING AND THUNDERING and I'm just in an overall great mood and felt the sudden urge to put something into the world. Unfortuantely, most of the chapter was written in non-rain days, so that happy tone isn't found alot in it lmfao. I hope the quality isn't much worse than the others, as I editied it sleep deprived, but I'd still love to hear what you think!! Thank you for still reading!

Their first sunset on the ship was supposed to be euphoric; beautiful. But it was anything but. The sky loomed over them; bland and immense, threatening to swallow them whole, the sun sunk down quietly, in dull red, refusing to grant them any of its heat.

The sun's exhaustion seemed to reach into every single one of them. After the adrenaline of escaping faded out of their bodies, they simply slumbered down on the ship, scattered, wrapped in blankets, and quiet with a bland tediousness painted on their faces.

Even the wind was placid in its strength; it only carried the cold to them, indifferent to announcing its presence. The night sky didn't bring a marvel of constellation with it either, it hung above them in empty, greyish blue; perfectly reflected in its hollowness by Martín's eyes, as he sat leaning against the deck, Sergio taking out the bullet in his arm. He neither whimpered nor joked. He sat uncharacteristically still, his head leaning heavily as he positioned his face upwards, exposing his thin neck, only nodding or tutting to Sergio's questions.

Normally Andrés would find something beautiful in the gloomy image, but right now he didn't feel neither beauty nor ugliness; he could only feel the exhaustion seeb into his own bones.

He huddled into his coat, and turned down from the sky into the cabins when he sensed a trembling that had nothing to do with the cold.

Some of their giddiness returned to the group when Sergio announced that they've breached international waters, not Martín though, who only smiled weakly at Helsinki when the bear turned to him in celebration. Andrés caught his eyes across the ship. Sergio patted him on the back, pulling him out of his thoughts, smiling widely. Andrés mirrored him, ruffling his hair.

It was surreal; the moment, being _here_ , not just because the heist finally getting finished after all these years, but because -Andrés realized now- he never really expected to survive it. It's almost as if he didn't know what to do anymore, and he was too tired; too worn out to even humor any ideas. 

He nodded at the group and took down to his cabin.

He had just settled in when he heard the shuffling of the doorknob. He took a deep sigh and turned around; facing the door.

Martín stepped into the cabin, taking small, slow steps, tentatively. He awkwardly turned to close the door and turned to Andrés, putting his hands in his pockets, and not looking directly at him.

Andrés noticed that despite the biting cold that had him shivering under his coat, Martín was only in a light, long-sleeved t-shirt, and not looking at all bothered about it, as if he couldn't feel the cold anymore. It's an old, black shirt of Martín's. Andrés remembers it quite well, how lovely Martín has always looked in it, tight against his chest and arms. There's no resemblance now between now and then. The shirt was hanging loosely around him now, with his collarbones sharply sticking out, the bony face from his youth was emerging again, with the lack of any color or fat in his face. It made his neck look longer too. With his now-longer hair, he looked like those corpses, those who died after a long illness and had lost all their hair, and were now put in silly wigs, that were simply too much for their skeleton faces. Andrés wondered if he'll look like this when all life leaves him at last. If what Martín was now is only his own future image. It would be fitting. Despite his growing sickness, Andrés didn't look any different; weaker, worse. Not yet anyway. It was fitting that Martín stood before him in this image. Him and Martín are one; mere reflections of the other, always have been. And Martín was cursed to carry the scars; the mutilations of all that is wrong with Andrés on him.

Like Dorian Gray and his picture.

It was a mercy, he understood now, that the eyes of the dead were closed, for he couldn't understand how anyone could take it if they looked like Martín's eyes in this moment. Martín's eyes that were once sharp, quick, taking in the whole world faster than God himself has created it. His eyes that now moved slower, heavier than they ever had before, as if weighed down by everything he had seen, as if the even the simple act of seeing was too much for him to bear.

Andrés wondered what it is that he had saved from Martín, if anything at all. How futile his attempts were to create a healable wound. He almost snickered to himself at the sight in front of him, the only wound there is now is Martín himself; a shrickled, bled-out, walking wound. And Andrés physically felt the carving of an identical Martín-shaped wound take place in his heart as his eyes took hold of him.

Martín let his head hang lazily, then sighed deeply and looked up at Andrés. "Are you okay?"

Andrés wanted to laugh so much, that it was scratching its way out of his throat. After everything he has put him through, after Martín followed him into the jaws of Death and snatched him out, he was the one cautiously coming to his aid; to care for him. As he had hundreds of times before.

Andrés straightened his back, and raised his chin up, capturing his eyes.

"I am", he answered coldly. Well, as coldly as he could. There's very little fight left in him.

Martín nodded, looking around him in the cabin, dragging his body in small, unaimable steps. He was lingering, waiting for Andrés to speak. 

Well, Andrés isn't the one to disappoint.

"I must thank you, your assistance to the heist was invaluable, and I would have definitely been dead if it weren't for you", the bitterness that colored his voice in the second part wasn't intentional. Martín is now fully staring at him, with an indecipherable look in his eyes, as if somehow Andrés' words didn't make it to his ears, blinking slowly. He didn't utter a word.

Andrés took a sharp breath; prepared himself for what's coming. "South America is an option for a destination. Nairobi and-", he closed his eyes, and focused on keeping his tone composed, forcing the coming words out of his mouth, "-Helsinki are heading for Argentina", Martín narrowed his eyes. "it's your home, it would be a good choice for you to head", he looked him in the eyes, took a sharp breath. "You'll have a beautiful life there".

Martín furrowed his eyebrows slightly. "You won't leave Sergio", he stated.

Andrés swallowed. "Certainly, I won't"

It took Martín a moment, but what a transformation it is! As if God had come down from the heavens and breathed the fire of life into Martín. His eyes instantly turned ablaze and his hands started to shake. He covered his face with his hands, inhaled loudly and a sound came out of him, one Andrés supposes could be categorized as a laugh, but he wouldn't dare call it such. He pushed his hair back, saying something inaudible. 

"What is this?", Andrés asked carefully.

"I said", he started, walking towards Andrés, "What the FUCK is wrong with you?", his breathing was erratic, his lips quivering. "Hm?", he reached Andrés and pushed him. Andrés didn't react nor say a word.

"You can't stand the sight of my face anymore? Ha? What is it? Tell me!", still, Andrés didn't open his mouth. "Eleven years by your side and now my presence is a nuisance to you?", Andrés strinched his jaws. "I don't care that you don't love me-", Andrés winced. "I never asked you to, do you hear me? I never did, and would have never had, and you accepted it-", Andrés shook his head, ferociously. "Yes, you did. Don't you dare lie to me. Not after everything. Don't you fucking dare"

Martín's eyes were already glazy, his cheeks wet, but the strength in his voice didn't waver. "What is it?", he kept approaching Andrés, Andrés taking the same steps backward, as in a dance. "Do I repulse you this much, hm?", he hit wall, haltening his steps. Martín now inches away from him, he could feel his warm, erratic breath on his face. "Do I sicken you now?, he pushed his chin up in a questioning nod.

In a slowly forming, deranged grin, he leaned in closer, until his cheek brushed with Andrés' nose. "Do I terrify you?", he half-whispered.

Martín's eyes were darting all over Andrés', piercing him. Andrés has never seen anything like it, not in a hundred brilliant paintings. It was full of lust and rage, love and sadness, panic and valor, reverence and contempt, all at once. There was Everything.

Martín is everything.

He let go.

"Yes", he breathed and took him into his mouth.

Martín whimpered, moving up his hands to grasp Andrés' face.

It was nothing at all like their first kiss. There was none of Martín's previous gentleness now, none of his careful treading in not showing his real desire, keeping it controlled; at bay as to not let it startle Andrés; scare him off. As one might approach a scared animal. He unleashed it all now; _daring_ Andrés to take off. 

Andrés is not the one to lose.

He swapped them around in a swift move, trapping him under his body. Martín moaned in his mouth, sending a quiver down his spine and settling in his dick. He pushed his hips onto him. Martín pushed his coat off, his hands lingering on Andrés shoulders, pressing. Andrés pulled away to take the shirt off Martín. He dived into his neck, licking and biting, with his trembling hands on his chest. He could feel the rabid beating of his heart under his palm and the pulse in his mouth; it's as if he has sunk into Martín's living body.

"Martín", it escaped his mouth in between kisses, like a prayer. Martín answered with a deep groan, pulling Andrés' mouth to his again. Andrés was no longer sure which body, which hands, were the ones trembling. He bit down on the swelling lips and alongside the blood, he drew a small smile from Martín, one he didn't see but _felt_. It's somehow the best thing he felt so far. Martín undid the buttons of Andrés' shirt with trembling fingers, sighing into his mouth as he got to touch his skin. Andrés pulled back a little and took it off. He was completely engulfed in the warmth of it all now. He had barely thrown it onto the ground before Martín reached for him again, with fervent, urgent hands. Andrés sighed in relief; from what, he doesn't know. Martín took a few steps forwards, his hands flying to take down Andrés' dress pants, he mirrored his as he kicked them away. They shuffled backwards together, as Martín held him and pushed both of them onto the small bed. Martín strode him, his hands on Andrés' chest. Calloused, rough and perfect. He meant to dive back in, but Andrés held to his arms to keep him in place for a minute; he just wanted to look at him, just for a moment. When Martín realized, he stopped trying to move, and Andrés took him in. His dilated eyes and dishevelled hair falling all over his face, his pale chest giving in to the curve of his waist. Andrés moved one hand slowly to his abdomen, and just grazed it softly with his fingers; just his fingertips. Martín shivered at the touch, but Andrés moved his fingers up, tracing his chest slowly up to his collarbones. And gradually he propped himself up to kiss it, he sucked into it, to taste him properly, going up with his mouth to his neck, kissing and biting. He brought up the hand not on Martín's chest to cup the side of his face, and almost instantly, like in a dance they've practiced the moves to hundreds of times, Martín's hand flew to his back to steady him. Andrés brushed his thumb over the slight stubble on his face as he drew back slightly from his neck, looking at him with hooded eyes. Martín just looked at him, panting softly. Then Andrés slowly; almost tentatively drew closer to his lips, as Martín stood still. He brushed Martín's hair behind his ear, as his lips came to caress Martín's. Martín moving to his rhythm as Andrés licked into his mouth; sighing at the feeling. Martín pulled him closer, as the kiss grew deeper, more erratic. Andrés slid the hand on Martín's chest around his back, he stroked his back, where he could feel his ribs. Martín bit into his lip, and Andrés licked their mixed blood. 

Martín pushed him into the mattress, not breaking the kiss off. Most of Martín's weight was on him, it was the most real thing he ever felt. Andrés pulled him closer, _needing_ to have every part of his body connect with his, with Martín, _his Martín_ . Martín pulled back, panting above him, his eyes wide with threads of his hair falling in. Andrés reached one hand and pushed his hair back, lowering it down his neck and back, smooth and hot under his touch, he stilled at his waist, Martín just looked at him, so Andrés slithered his fingers under the boxer, sliding in the rest of his hand, he cupped his ass, using the movement to pull him closer, until their crotches were just against the other in the right angle. Andrés hissed at the sensation. Martín let his weight fall on his elbows, leaning heavily into one on Andrés' side, his heavy breath directly on Andrés ears, their cheeks touching. Andrés pulled them down, Martín's already leaking cock erupting out. He expected it to be a strange sight, but it was anything but. It was neither strange nor familiar. It was just Martín. Just Martín. There was nothing else. It was Martín but never as he's seen him before. It was Martín but _raw_ . He was holding back nothing. He was _beautiful_ and Andrés cursed himself for depriving himself of this for _so long_. 

Andrés just grazed the head with his fingertips at first. It wasn't hesitance, no, it was something else, he's not sure what; the culmination of years of curiosity that he wasn't conscious of perhaps, or maybe, most likely, a need to freeze the moment, just for seconds, as he felt being more and more pulled in a haze, all control, all desire of control too, evaporating out of his body. Martín shivered. "Please", he moaned directly in his ear, the desperation in his voice matching the one in Andrés' entire body. Andrés shifted them around, he pulled Martín's boxer enough for him to kick them off, and sank in his mouth again as he wrapped his fingers around him, stroking at a maintained pace at first, but the moans and _the whimpers_ Martín let out inside his mouth seemed to be more in control of his own hand than he was. Martín fisted his hand inside Andrés' boxers, pulling them down with the other hand as he took hold of his cock. Andrés groaned at the feeling, the _heat_ , the knowledge that this is Martín. He leaned his forehead on his, as they shared the other's breath, lips touching and pulling apart with a sudder. Andrés had had much more technically intimate sex, handjobs were the lowest in that hierarchy, but in this moment he felt as if he had never touched another human before, as if his skin and Martín's were molding into one. 

He came like this, following Martín, ecstatic. Alongside the blinding white pleasure, he felt _free_ , as if a deadly weight had been left of him. He collapsed on Martín who immediately wrapped his arms around him.

He rolled off to his back, still deep in his haze; eyes closed, panting. He felt a smile creep up his face, unable to suppress it. 

He basked in the moment. He opened his eyes to look at Martín, laying beside him.

He was staring at the ceiling, eyes glazy. It's not like Andrés often thought about what Martín would have looked like after their first time or anything, but this looks all wrong. Martín looks even more pained than before.

He leaned down and kissed his arm. Martín flinched, then turned to look at Andrés. If Andrés didn't know better, he would say he looked offended.

"Well, I don't think I have much chance now of getting you to leave", he went straight into it.

Martín laughed. A joyless, empty laugh. Turning to look at the ceiling again. After a moment he sighed and turned to him.

"I'm tired, Andrés. I can't fight this any longer, I can't fight you", even without saying it, Andrés already knew, he felt the same tiredness in his own bones. "So ask me again to leave and I will", Andrés swallowed.

"Martín", Andrés started, but Martín cut him off. "Do it, just don't claim it's for me, don't claim it's for love or brotherhood or the commitment you have to me, not because you're dying or for my own safety, just say that you truly don't want me, and you'll never see my face again"

Andrés couldn't. He no longer cares how selfish it is, he just can't keep cutting in their flesh like this. He lost

"You know I'm not fond of lies", Andrés said simply. And Martín nodded, not triumphant, it's too late for triumph for either of them.

"Yeah?", he pressed.

"Yeah", Andrés repeated and drew his lips to his.

Andrés pulled him into his chest and buried his nose in his hair, Martín snuggled closer, wrapping his legs around Andrés. _God, he missed this_.

Andrés slept peacefully for the first time in nearly two years.

_______

The peace ,however, didn't last long. Once they have made their way to the Philippines and settled in their new life, everything that they've tried to bury gurgling their way up, clamming and scratching deep in their walls.

They've fallen into their new rhythm easily; naturally. As if they have been together from the beginning. In all the ways that matter, they have. But there was so much wrongness for the perfection Andrés imagined they would have.

Martín neither got better; healthier or even happier nor worse. It was like he was forever condemned in this state, between life and death, like a vampire.

Andrés opened the window, letting the night air engulf the kitchen. The wind carried the singing of the ocean to them, Sergio was joining them for dinner tonight so Andrés was busy cooking. Martín sat on the counter, one leg pressed up as he leaned into it, propping his elbow on it as he read some newly published book on a mathematical breakthrough. He was deeply focused, with a pencil between his teeth and a pen behind his ear. Andrés wanted to stop and sketch him, but Sergio might be encouraged to finish cooking himself if he came and the food was still not ready.

He added the spices and started stirring.

He glanced at Martín again, he could hardly keep himself from looking away from him since the mint, or maybe since forever and he only became aware of it lately. It was like an irrational child who thinks if he looked away from his mother, she'll disappear. 

"Would you sing something?", Andrés asked, going back to his task, "To keep me company"

"You have the recorder here, you could play whatever you want", Martín said, his voice distant, focused on what he's reading.

"I'd rather hear your voice", he insisted.

He heard him sigh then the book close and the harsh sound of being put on the table. 

Andrés smiled. 

Martín jumped off the counter and went out into the living room, then came back with his new guitar; an elegant, black one they stole from an auction house.

He sat down back on the counter and started playing, at the recognition of the song Andrés turned around fully, a grin escaping his face.

 _Canción para mi muerte_. 

Martín's eyes gleamed as he sang, a small smile drawn on his face. 

Martín was singing this very song in the bar Andrés stumbled in the first night they had met. He remembers how he sat on the stole, a worn-out guitar on his lap, and sang. He remembers his clear voice, weaker and less raspier than it is now, but beautiful and powerful. He remembers how everyone's eyes were fixed on him, completely hushed as if they were in a funeral instead. No one dared to disturb it, to create a single sound. Andrés had only realized that he was standing at the back of the bar for the entirety of the song only when he was taken out of his haze by the clapping.

Andrés dared to interrupt him now, drawing closer to kiss him. Martín grinned against his mouth. Andrés would never tire of this _feeling_ , this warmth that invades his chest whenever Martín smiles against him like that. He cupped his face, burying his fingers in his hair. He kissed him as if it was the only thing he wanted to do ever since seeing him in that bar.

At a coughing sound, Andrés turned to find Sergio standing awkwardly on the doorway. Andrés laughed and Sergio just walked inside, with an exasperated sigh. It's pretty much useless that they have different houses now, as they just pop into the other's house whenever they want. Sergio needed the isolation of his house for the first few months, too drained by the 5 months of living with those lunatics, but once he had taken his share of the quiet and solitude, he was drawn to spending more time with him and Martín. But still, he looked _wrong_ as if he were waiting for something, moving uncomfortably. Andrés supposes he knows what it is he's waiting for. What all three of them are waiting for to happen, knowing it's inevitably soon.

Martín just chuckled and jumped off the counter, pulling Sergio into the living more as he started telling him about the concept he was just reading about.

Andrés' true surprise came at Sergio and Martín. He expected difficulty and tension, but it was really anything but. He doesn't know what trespassed between them when they were in the hideout together, but it seemed to resolve many of the grudges both have held against the other before.

Andrés is grateful for this, it puts him at ease, just a little at least; neither Sergio nor Martín have anyone other than him, difficult and peculiar as they are, so it comforts him, that in a way they'll have the other when he's gone. He took a sip of water, hoping it'll drown the slight bitterness arising in his mouth.

Andrés finished cooking and called Martín into the kitchen to set the table. Sergio joined to help and all three of them sat down to eat. 

The wrongness showes up in moments like these. Slight, unimportant. Moments in early morning showers, where his legs would give up under him, or at the beach where drops of blood would mix with the ink of the book in his hands, or at the dinner table, where the wine glass would fall out of his grasp and shutter against the hard tiles.

Martín's face turned sour, and quietly he stood up and brought another glass from the cabinet, like what happened was the most normal thing.

He put it on the table and poured more wine into it. He won't reach to help him drink, like he does when it's just the two of them.

However, after a moment Martín started talking about the gold and Andrés glimpsed the old Martín and Sergio emerging on the dinner table. He excused himself.

The wrongness shows up late at night, in the weight of eyes on his chest as he's sleeping, out of fear and dread, or in open balcony doors, the wind carrying the smoke inside.

"Martín", he stepped inside, tightening his rope around him

Martín turned to him, his face only half illuminated by the blue moonlight. "Did I wake you up?"

"No,no", he sat on the other chair, reaching to take Martín's tea.

Martín inhaled, turning to the sky. He had a strange quietness on him.

"You're not happy", Andrés said quietly. It's not a question. 

Martín turned to him, narrowing his eyes.

"You've had 10 years of expectations, what we have now doesn't live up to it, does it? You ended up with a dying man, nothing else"

Martín squinted at him, but when Andrés didn't say anything, he barked out a laugh.

"What the hell are you talking about, Andrés?", he leaned back, fully looking at him.

"You're not satisfied", Andrés took a sharp breath, "After all, my love isn't enough, is it?"

It shows up in an unforgiven past, in rejected declarations, in unchewable contempt.

Martín laughed. 

"Only a fool would rely on your love, Andrés", Martín said nonchalantly, walking into the bedroom. Andrés followed him into the darkness.

After a moment he spoke. "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't hold the same place as my previous wives, that this is something different!"

Martín hummed. "Only because you don't have the time to look for someone else"

"Martín"

"What? I'm not wrong. If you had longer to live, you wouldn't choose me. Don't disrespect me by pretending otherwise", he slipped under the covers, as if they were discussing what they would have for breakfast tomorrow morning.

"You don't understand a thing"

"Don't I? If I hadn't followed you to Toledo, to your brother's heist and then here, you wouldn't have even thought of me. Don't look at me like that, you said it yourself", Andrés started speaking, but Martín interrupted him. "I understand everything, Andrés, I know you like the back of my hand", he shifted to his side and turned off the lights. "It's alright. Go to sleep"

Andrés mirrored him, huddling closer to him. Despite everything, Martín leaned back into him all the same. Andrés placed a kiss on the top of his arm 

"You're right. I didn't think about you"

Under his touch, Martín stiffened.

"I don't simply think of you. I think through you. Your voice colors my thoughts as much as mine", he paused,"There's more of you in my own mind than there is of me, Martín", he wrapped his arm around him. "So no I don't think about you, but my mind is made out of the marrow of your bones"

Martín sighed, holding Andrés' hand to his chest.

It shows up in hopeless explanations, in justifications way beyond their time.

"What about the plan?", Martín asked softly, turning to him.

Andrés stiffened. "What about the plan?", he repeated.

"You didn't even look back, Andrés, at either of us, not even once", he shook his head, as if he genuinely couldn't understand how Andrés was able to do this, as if he was plagued by it.

"I believed that if I did, if I looked back even once, I would doom you, Martín", he cupped his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb

The wrongness shows up in unfulfilled dreams, in desires fought, in ugly temptations calling. It shows in cruelty and manipulation.

Andrés waited for him at the beach. It was all prepared; the lights, the music. Andrés had trusted Sergio to keep Martín busy until he was done.

He watched him walk towards him, beautiful, illuminated by the lights. Andrés' heart swelled, it ached too. The aching was familiar by now, he came to recognize it as an inherit part of loving Martín, as if his own heart didn't know what to do with the magnitude of it all, and was simply collapsing under it.

The wind ruffled his hair, giving a pinkish look to his cheeks. He raised his eyebrow as he walked towards him.

Andrés went down on one knee. Martìn just watched him, no smile or scrawn.

He opened the box, he didn't weave a speech. He simply asked.

Martín looked down on him. After a moment, he took Andrés hand and helped him up.

Not touching the ring.

"I'm going to bed, Andrés. Good night"

He turned and walked. Andrés stood there, frozen. His heart dropping to his stomach.

He doesn't know how long he had been standing there. In the end, he walked into the dark house, and went directly to the guest room. 

Not even 10 minutes after Martín came looking for him. He lingered at the doorway, just looking at Andrés. Andrés didn't say anything and Martín just took a few steps in and knelt beside the bed, in front of him. He took Andrés' hands in his.

"Why are you sleeping here? Come to our bed", he said softly, eyes shining with fear and something else.

"I should have asked you to leave, that night", Andrés said and Martín draws back a little, his eyes starting to dart frantically, he lets go of Andrés' hands, but Andrés holds them back instantly.

"I don't know how to make you happy, Martín", he admitted, "I don't know what to give you, what is it that you want. You reject every single declaration of love, you turned down my proposal to marry you! Just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you? Do you want me to cut my heart out and hand it to you? Will this be enough to prove myself! Tell me"

Martín turned to him, leaned back and raised an eyebrow; challenging.

"No", Andrés said simply, sitting up.

"Here you go. You're nothing more than your pretty words"

Rage was dripping out of his fingertips, announcing itself with the sudden trembling, the heat reaching his face. He took a few steps closer.

"You expect me to let you-"

"You wanted it", Martín screamed, shaking his head, in lack on understanding "You wanted this heist as much-"

Andrés held him by the collars. "Of course I want it! Of course I do!"

Martín gasped his face between his hands, stepping closer. "Then let's do it. Let's melt our gold", there was this glint in his eyes, this hope that Martín never knew how to let go off and Andrés is _tempted_ , he wants to just say it _yes, yes let's do it, let's burn the whole world down_

He let go off him and stepped backwards. "I don't expect you to understand now, but one day you will. One day you'll get why I did this"

Martín's face turned sour. "Oh, really?" he mocked, _dreadful creature_. "And what should I do then, hm?", he grinned. "Do I dig out your rotten body, hm? Do I cut it to little pieces and digest it, bit by bit? Do I pour your blood into those fancy wine glasses that you love so much and drink every last drop, until your blood runs in my veins? Do I burn your bones and inhale the ashes? Fight the insects for whatever remains of you? What will I have then? Answer me!", he barked, "When you go in peace and find your light at the end of the tunnel, what do I FUCKING DO?"

"You can't blame me for dying, Martín, it's not my choice. Do you think you can hold life and death in your hand? Make them abide to you?", Martín stared at him, visbily biting on his jaws. "You can't use this to get what you want. You followed me into one death-hole, I won't lead you into another", he finalized.

Martín glared at him, then strode out of the door. Andrés could hear the bang of their bedroom door close on the other end of the house. 

Andrés' rage was seebing out of his fingertips, his hands trembling. Martín still fancies himself the suffering lover. He still thinks his love for Andrés exceeds Andrés' love for him, that he's dreading this goodbye more than Andrés. He doesn't understand that their seperation is Andrés worst nightmare, he thinks this is his misery alone and he's shutting him out.

Andrés took a moment to calm himself, then followed him. This is how they get their entertainment these days. With the lack of work, they chase each other from one end of the house to the other. Andrés lashes out in his humilation and weakness in the worst days of his illness and Martín still follows him. Martín lashes out in the worst days of his fear and Andrés still follows him. It's their curse, in a way, the inability to let the other alone.

He opened the door and went inside, laid on the bed and forcefully rolled Martín to face him. His face all red in anger and tears. Andrés cupped his face.

"You're the brightest, most cunning man I will ever know", he traced his face with his fingers, "but even you can't cheat death, my love"

Martín buried his face in Andrés' chest and Andrés wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer.

The wrongness shows in the happiest moments too. It shows in regrets, in the cruelty of fate, in bitterness. It shows in the midst of Beauty, causing cracks; cracks that could only be filled with gold.

Martín nuzzled softly at his neck, Andrés malleable under him, relaxing his arms on Martín's back. He follows a trail from the back of his ear to his pulse; licking and kissing. Andrés threw his head back, a relaxed chuckle making its way out. 

"Marry me", Andrés said, turning into a moan as Martín bit his neck.

Martín tsked, kissing and licking. His hands roaminf his sides.

"Melt gold with me", Martín whispered. Andrés drew him back into his mouth.

Martín opened the shirt and followed a trail of kisses on his stomach, Andrés softly caressing his hair as he went down. 

Then he came up again, just before reaching the aching, smiling down at him. The frail ray of early sunshine coming through the curtain made its home on Martín's face, illuminating his hazy eyes, his swollen lips, the red spots on his throat. He looked beautiful, a living sculpture made out of molten gold.

Martín trailed the side of his face with his fingers. "Melt gold with me", he repeated, softly, then brought his face up with his fingers and kissed him, "Please", he breathed, before resuming the kiss.

Andrés situated one hand on Martín's neck and the other on his face, swiftly shifting his body so that their erections are pressed together. Andrés groaned against his mouth, drawing a moan from him. Then started moving under Martín, pressing him closer all the while. Martín held his hip with one hand to control the movement better as he moaned against his mouth, feeling Andrés' smile.

"Stop resisting", Martín gave a shaky breath, as both of their movements became more erratic, nuzzling at his lips all the while. Andrés moaned, shutting his eyes tight as his hold on Martín got tight and his breath became shuddred.

"Let go", Martín pleaded against his mouth. And Andrés did, with an arch and a silent cry. Martín buried his face in the nooze of his neck and followed. Falling on Andrés chest who just kissed the top of his head and rounded his arms around him, rubbing his back. Martín came about placing a soft kiss on his chest.

It was in those moments that which they had abandoned cried to get their attention. It held so much of both of them into it, a shared creation of both of their hands, and like Pygmalion, they were condemned with the torment of needing to bring it to life. 

Andrés knew this, but he didn't truly understand before the deep gap it would dig, not between them, but inside them. He didn't understand before that there was no taking back Martín without the plan; a part of Martín would always remain with it; dead as long as the plan is dead.

Time passed, but Martín didn't forget neither had he let Andrés forget. If anything, he taunted him with it, the only person who still understands how Andrés still dreams of it. But Andrés refused to give the reign to the darkest, worst parts in him.

No matter how Martín begs or screams or cries, no matter how tempted Andrés is. He won't let it get to him, he reminds himself. 

He woke up to an empty bed. Martín had already woke up, it seems. He took a shower and went downstairs to get his coffee.

He first glimpsed it in the air before he even walked into the kitchen, he glimpsed it in the way both Sergio and Martín turned to him slowly. Martín's eyes were wide and he looked as if he was unable to breathe. He smiled at Andrés; a tentative, small, shaky thing. 

Sergio took a deep breath, and gestured for Andrés to sit down. 

"I have news", Sergio said, his expression unreadable.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I've tried a lot of new things for this chapter, that I've never done anything like before (the smut for example), so feedback and comments will be appreciated!! Thank you again!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go!
> 
> https://youtu.be/j1zBEWyBJb0 --> this is the version of the song I had in mind!
> 
> Thank you for reading! All feedback is appreciated.

"No", Andrés said, his face expressionless.

Martín stood silent as Sergio explained. He knew that Andrés would reject it vehemently.

"There's no guarantee that it would work, Andrés, but there _is_ a chance, I've checked the other cases from the past two months, and their state has stabilized. It's too early to tell, but if it could work, we have to try it", Sergio explained.

"No", Andrés repeated, nonchalantly.

"What have you got to lose, Andrés, you're dying", Sergio insisted, the desperation seeping into his carefully controlled voice.

"Yes, and I won't spend my last days as an experimental rat to end up dying anyway. I already accepted it, hermanito, it's time you do too", he meant to stride for the door.

"No", Sergio said this time.

"What?", Andrés turned back.

"I said no. I won't stand here and watch you die as if we were helpless when there are things we could do. Listen to me, Andrés, you could have let me die, but you didn't. It's time for me to do the same, whether you like it or not"

"Martín, could you leave us for a moment?", Andrés asked, still looking at Sergio, his face sour.

"You can't exclude me from this", Martín said hastingly. 

"I just want a moment with my brother, Martín. Please get out"

Martín just remained still, baffled. He won't accept this again. But Sergio just touched his arm and nodded at him quietly, he'll give them a moment, but if Andrés thinks he can shut him out of this discussion he'll shoot him in the face himself.

He went out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him. But as he turned to walk he just decided to stay and listen, he has no reason to respect Andrés' wishes. He can go fuck himself.

He swiftly went into the cupboard little room down the hallway. Andrés opened the kitchen floor, then looked out, when he couldn't see Martín he went back in. Martín came out and put his ear to the kitchen door.

"Stop this now, little brother. We both know there is no hope, there is no cure. What are you doing?"

"I'm doing what's best for you. You rejected it before for the Bank Heist, now there is no bank heist, we're just waiting. Where is the harm in trying?"

"Where is the harm?", Andrés exclaimed, "The harm, brother, is that you're taking apart everything I've been building over the past year, hell, over the past three years. You are the one who brought Martín back into our lives", he screamed. Martín winced. "You're the one who brought him to the heist, you're the one who made it impossible to leave him after. And now. Now after I've finally reached a stage with him where he's willing to let go, you're giving him hope. Tell me, after this doesn't work, as it surely won't, and Martín breaks apart, will you be the one who will put him back together? Is this something you can do? No, so let it be. Let us be, Sergio, I won't break him for your own ego"

The room was silent, all Martín could hear was the sound of his own breathing. He was shaking, he was just on the verge of opening the door and breaking Andrés skull, when Sergio started speaking.

"Is he willing to let go, Andrés? Is that what you think? Do you see him at all, brother?", he said, calmly. "No, you only see what you want to see, you're creating illusions in reality's place, he's dying alongside you, Andrés, is what is really happening. And how little do you know him at all? You admitted it yourself, that he can't be out of control, do you think he enjoys the helplessness? Do you think he's _willing_ to sit here and watch you die where there is something out there that he knows he can do? We're all powerless here, Andrés, I'm well aware of it, but do you think he'll ever forgive himself if there's a chance you can make it and you both ignore it, do you think he'll ever forgive you?" 

Andrés was silent.

Sergio went on. "This might be the only way to save him, if that is what you're really after. Even if it doesn't work, even if you still die, he'll know that he did all he could", he paused. "Please, hermano, do it for him", the calmness in his voice vanished, there was only pleading now. "Do it for me. Please"

Martín opened the door and both turned to him. Sergio's eyes were welled up, as well as Andrés', who looked broken, his indifference scattered on the tiles beneath their feet.

Martín only looked at him, and Andrés met his eyes. He didn't need to say anything, Andrés could read him. 

Lastly, Andrés nodded at him, and Martín sighed in relief. 

He strode to him and pulled him in his chest. "Thank you, thank you", he cried, Andrés only chuckled lightly, uneasily. He met Sergio's eyes over Andrés shoulders and smiled at him, he reached one arm to lightly touch his cheek, and Sergio leaned into it in response, smiling warmly, then nodded at Martín.

He let go of him. "I'll prepare the flight to Russia, we'll leave as soon as possible"

"You've already signed up at the clinic, haven't you?", Andrés asked, with a hint of amusement. Sergio nodded, and laughed. 

"No one in this family has any respect for me, I see", Andrés added, feigning annoyance.

Martín smacked him on the arm. "Why don't you be of some use and go pack?", Martín smirked and Andrés raised his eyebrows in response. "Oh, c'mon, you know you're worse than Sergio, if I leave you to it, you'll take days"

Andrés nodded in agreement, reluctantly. "I better do, before you get any ideas of doing it yourself", he chuckled and moved out of the kitchen.

Martín turned to Sergio. "You're not coming"

Sergio opened his mouth in protest, but Martín stopped him. "I won't lie to you, Sergio. I don't think what you're waiting for to happen will happen, but you deserve the chance to know. You and I are the same, have I told you that before? You want to wait", Sergio took a shaky breath, 

"It's okay, hermanito, I will take care of him. You can trust me, you know", Martín smirked. 

"I know", Sergio nodded, and slowly smiled at Martín.

______

The journey was exhausting, it wasn't luxurious like they used to travel before, travelling was already too dangerous, they couldn't make it worse by getting under the spotlight. It was long, and difficult and Andrés was already sick enough, but at last they made it.

The cold was demeaning, his Argentinian body wasn't made for this. How was it still so cold in the closed car with the heater on, he doesn't know. They were near their destination, the small house on the outskirts of St. Petersburg that Andrés and Sergio lived in when they were in Russia. 

Martín spent days cleaning. It held no sign that it was once their home, there were none of their belongings or pictures. The only sign is worn-out, half-covered-by-dust paintings on the walls. Directly on the wall. Unmistakably Andrés' style, Martín could recognize it anywhere, even if they weren't as good as his work is now, even holding a hint of immaturity, lack of concern with perfection. They were full of his vibrant colors, the movements that make the images seem as they're dancing. There was younger Sergio, and Andrés himself, his self-portrait isn't as accurate as the one in the monastery, or maybe he looked different then, before Martín knew him. He prefers the first option. There were lively shapes, dark green orchards of trees with splattered orange, and shaded mountains on the walls in what he supposes was Sergio's room, and elaborate illustrations of the sea in Andrés' room, with, amusingly, European buildings rising up from the sea itself. Martín tried to clean the walls as best as he could without removing the remnants. He could see, as well as if he had been there, Andrés trying to cheer up a dying child by colorful, warm images, trying to make a home in a strange, cold country for a parentless, sick boy. He could see Andrés moving around the house, filling it with his poetry and colors, with his concern and love. He turned to him and smiled, Andrés softly returning it, as he unpacked.

Andrés later tried to adjust the paintings, restore them. Martín leaned on the opposite wall on the ground as he watched him, handing him whatever he needed from his supplies. He brought out his guitar and started playing as Andrés focused on his task. He was so lost in the music he didn't notice Andrés adding to the painting, he was seemingly sketching a figure -the only figure on the whole wall of his (now, their) room. He couldn't see well from Andrés' hands working magic, bringing life into still image. And it was life he brought, Martín thought as he could at last see himself on the wall. He was standing in front of the sea, his back to them, but he was looking back, the side of his face clear as his image smiled back at him. It was done masterfully, detailed down to the gap between his teeth, to the hair ruffled by the wind, to the glint in his eyes, painted in the same blue as of the sea's, but it caused Martín's heart to ache, there was something about it that felt wrong, something that he didn't want to look at; to see, there seemed to be some distance in the still picture, as a photograph taken by someone who's walking away from the subject, someone who's leaving. 

Martín coughed and stood up. "I'll make us some tea, why don't you put on a film for us?"

Martín put the tea on the coffee table, and took his place on Andrés' side on the couch in front of the screen. He huddled closer, until his head leaned against Andrés' chest, whose hand moved to play with his hair.

"Now, stop showing off! Put on some subtitles", Andrés laughed and didn't move. 

"You should learn the language, we'll be here for a while. Besides, you should know all that I do. How would you call yourself my soulmate otherwise?", he teased.

"First off, I didn't call myself your soulmate, you did. Second, I'll learn all the languages and art you know after you learn all about the sciences and maths"

Andrés laughed. "I already know it all"

"Oh, of course you do, as proven by your infallible knowledge of mitochondrias"

Andrés smacked his head, then went back to softly treading with his hair, laughing. "You'll never let that go, will you?"

Martín shook his head and relaxed in Andrés' arms. He looked up at him, his face lit by the light coming from the screen.

He supposes there's some truth to Andrés' mitochondria. 

He traced with his eyes Andrés' sharp jawlines, his dark eyes, the wrinkles around them, his full lips and devilish smile. How beautiful he is, how perfect. How lethal. It reminded Martín of something his great-aunt once told him, when they still had any relations with relatives, while her hands were busy knitting something, and he pointed a flaw in the symmetry; she told him that it was intentional, because evil spirits find their way in through perfection and get entrapped in it and that at least one mistake was necessary to avoid them. 

Back then he thought it was a nonsense story to cover her embarrassment. It makes him wonder now. Whether he is the evil spirit entrapped in Andrés' perfection or it's something else inside Andrés; his own genes, or it's something else entirely.

Andrés looked down at him as he stared, he leaned down and kissed him, and Martín melted into it.

They settled into their lives easily. Andrés started treatment. They settled into their lives, and for the first time, Martín tried to actually live it, there might be a different outcome now, there might be an actual life waiting for them at the end of that line. One they would truly share. 

There was a sense of happiness foreign to him in it, in the new hope. But there was an undeniable hole in him, one he's so aware of. He doesn't speak of the heist anymore, he doesn't mention it at all, let alone press it on Andrés and beg.

He tries to let go, and he does, in a way. But it left a wound of its own. It was their shared creation, a product of their love. It was their child in many ways, and Martín was the one who birthed it out of his own body. Andrés murdered it in front of him, and now they'll never resurrect it. He has Andrés now, it should be enough, and it is, but isn't at the same time. It's a wound that might never heal, but it'll close.

Or it won't.

Andrés gets progressively worse. His illness working faster than the treatment that might do something or not.

One night, Martín woke up in the middle of the night to the spread of warmth underneath him on the bed. He quietly got up and prepared a bath, he filled it with hot water and the soupy flower stuff gel Andrés likes. 

He gently shook his shoulders. Andrés' was always a heavy sleeper, but the medications make it even stronger. He knelt on the ground and shook his shoulder a little strongly, saying his name. Andrés recognized it before he opened his eyes, Martín knows from the sourness drooping on his face, the reddening that follows.

"It's okay", he whispered, trying to help him out of his pajamas. He repeated it a couple of times and Andrés slapped his hands away.

"Get away from me", Martín reached again, and Andrés forcefully pushed him, interrupting Martín. "It's not fucking okay, get away from me, this is all your fault", he stood up and strode to the bathroom.

Martín sighed. He quietly moved about the room. He changed the sheets and moved the ones in the room to the laundry basket downstairs. Then he took out clean pajamas. He held them and sat waiting for him on the bed.

An hour later, Andrés came out, still sour and not looking Martín in the eye. Martín handed them to him, not reaching to help him, but when Andrés finished and sat on the bed, Martín forcefully pulled him in his arms. Andrés only relinquished a little, before relaxing in his hold. Martín buried his nose in his hair, reaching under the top to rub his back. Andrés' eyes were unfocused, looking beyond what Martín saw. 

"I love you", he whispered after some time. After a moment, Andrés closed his eyes and nodded.

It will get better. The body rejects before it accepts, it's normal.

Except it didn't.

They moved to the hospital at last, as more experimental treatments were added, all different sorts. Martín never left his side, some nights they would spend at home, but they basically stayed full-time in the hospital. Martín filled it with Andrés' books, where he would read to him from sometimes. He hung on the walls some of Andrés' sketches. He cooked Andrés' favourite dishes at home then brought them. He brought plants, but not flowers. 

And all the while, Andrés got worse. At days he was barely conscious at all. Others he would be slightly better, and Martín would take him to walk through the city. When he was exceptionally well, they would both dress up to their finest -Martín kept meticulously taking his suits to get adjusted to his new weight-, and would spend the night at the Mariinksy Theatre. Andrés would regain some of his previous self then, in the presence of beauty. 

But those days kept getting fewer and fewer, and Andrés' suits collected dust in their wardrobe in their home that they barely set foot in anymore.

It had been a year, and Martín wondered if he'll get another with him.

It quickly seemed more unlikely.

Martín huddled in the arm chair, absentmindedly staring at the door. He grew to dislike hospitals during the night, the eery quietness, the smell of sickness and death. 

"Martín", Andrés called to him quietly, his voice raspy. Martín shut his eyes. His name rolled off Andrés' tongue swirles like a rope around his throat. He thinks of a time when he won't hear it again and the rope tightens.

He hummed, rubbing his eyebrows, then looked up at him. Andrés studied him, leaning against the headboard. The room was dark, but Martín could still see how utterly exhausted Andrés was, how his chest heaved against the air as if carrying a deadly weight. 

"You've been mourning for far, far too long, cariño. It's time to stop", he paused, speaking was getting more difficult for him; too effortful. "It's time to let me go" 

Martín swallowed, and moved up from the armchair, he moved Andrés a little, then brought his head on his chest.

"It's time for you to stop telling me what it's time for", Martín humoured.

Andrés chuckled softly, the sound swirled and danced between Martín's ribs, then dove straight inside his heart.

Martín tightened his hold on him, pulling him closer to his chest and burying his nose in his hair. Andrés said nothing when it was damped by his tears. He has never felt so helpless, so desperate.

"I love you more than life", he half-whispered. Andrés tensed in his arms, then took a deep breath, an increasingly difficult task. 

"I wish you didn't", he finally said, sincerely, his voice laced with sadness that's too grand for both of them to bear.

"Sing something for me", Andrés said quietly, after a moment. Martín took a sharp breath, gave himself a moment to compass his voice.

Then he started singing, quietly, nearly whispering, and softly. _Donna Donna_.

He sang even when the quivering touched his voice, he sang even when the words were broken with his own hiccups. He sang even when Andrés had fallen asleep in his arms. He sang with everything in him, as if intending to shame Death if it came to their door, as if with the love and fear and pleading in his voice, Death would turn its face away and give them another night.

And it did. 

And Martín came back every night.

Some nights he would sing, others he would simply tell a story.

Sometimes the story was only a memory, as true as Martín remembered it, other times it was a memory as he wanted it to be, an act of kindness, he told himself, directed at both of them.

Andrés was too delirious, lingering at the doorway between life and death, between truth and lies. And Martín tried to give him everything.

So he told him about their wedding, how beautiful it was, how they both shone in brighter white than the moon hanging above them, how Martín had vowed to love him in life and death. There had to be some truth in there after all.

He told him of heists in cities they have never been to, of glories never attained, of love that was always there, if not always acknowledged.

On a night, where Andrés was too far gone, Martín had believed it was their last, he slid into his bed, and held him so tightly against his chest as if he meant for Andrés' soul leaving his body to get confused and get trapped inside Martín's while leaving.

He held him and told him about the Gold. He told him how they walked into the bank together, powerful and beautiful. He told him how they dove into the vault and swam amidst their gold. How they stood melting it together, how it shone so brightly in Andrés' eyes it turned them into molten gold themselves. He told him how he kissed him there, how they held the nuggets of gold in their hands, and laughed as it slipped through their fingers.

But Martín didn't laugh as he felt Andrés slip through his own fingers, neither had he wept. There was nothing in him any longer, he couldn't hold him any more tightly than he did, he couldn't pray and cry and scream at fate more than he did. Everything he did over the past years was worthless, Andrés was right at the end, Martín fought death and fate with teeth and nails, and he lost. There was nothing now. Some might say he should be grateful for the time they've had, but Martín felt no gratitude, he had always been greedy, but this was no greed either. It was their right, he had born so much, he had fought so hard and he only reached a mountain of ashes. It felt wrong deep in his marrow, as if someone rearranged his body, swapped the organs and the bones around.

In one rarity of honesty, his father had once told him that the only relief parents ever feel is after their children's death. He supposed then that it meant that the loss was better than the fear; the waiting, but he understands now that it's not a case of relativity, it's only the case of witnessing the worst that could ever happen. And he supposes what his father had meant by relief was only nothingness, or so it was what he felt now. He felt no relief nor freedom.

He spent the entire night holding him, and this time he finished the story. He slid his hand under Andrés' shirt and rubbed his back, Andrés let out a small whimper. Martín knows that he likes it, that it comforts him. 

Martín watched him all night, but Andrés didn't go. Neither had he the following night, nor the following one. He gave no indications of getting better either, for weeks that turned into months he was only flesh and blood arranged in the shape of his Andrés. He was trapped, and Martín had the sick feeling that it was his doing somehow, that it was his clutching, his inability to let him go. But he didn't reassure him, he didn't mouth the words, he didn't tell him 'It's okay, you can leave', he never would, there was no moving on for Martín, this is only fair. He knows Andrés wants him to, for both of them, and he knows Andrés might hate him for it now, but he doesn't care. Let him hate him, Martín hates him too. Let him hate him as much as Martín loves him, let him move the earth by his hatred, as long as he's there, as long as Martín could still touch his warm skin, and if he trapped both of them, so let it be.

And of course he cried and hoped and prayed again. This was his role, after all.

Martín still held him night and day so tightly to his own body.

So tightly that when Andrés started getting better Martín suspected it was his own soul that tore itself in half and sank into Andrés.

His body started responding to the treatments. Slowly, way too slowly for his liking, but undeniably. He couldn't breathe for long on his own at first, but bit by bit, his lungs regained control. Bit by bit, he could stand and even walk around the room. Martín had never been so terrified, hope had never hurt him so much, but he was never the one to know how to stop hoping. 

Andrés didn't regain his full health, and the doctors indicated that it's likely he never will. They also indicated that this 'never' wasn't likely to be long. The best the treatments could do would give him a couple more months, a couple more years, but it was far too early for anyone to know.

He stabilized and that is enough for Martín. For now. He knew there was a chance, however small, that the treatment could get better with time or that there would be others by the time Andrés gets bad again. Or it was only wishful thinking, Martín doesn't care.

Martín hates it. Of course he does. He doesn't work with chance. He's an engineer, he needs precise answers, he needs to know for sure. And Andrés is the same, despite what he likes to think of himself, he plays with fate only when he has enough control over it. 

The treatment wasn't finished yet, but Andrés was stable, and he was well. As well as he could ever be after what his body suffered, the trembling was still there, and he got so, so thin. He could only walk a little before he got so exhausted and needed to stop, where they used to walk for hours before. He was exhausted, Martín knew, more than just on the physical level.

The treatment wasn't finished yet when Sergio reached out through their contact to ask them to come home. Martín had kept him up with Andrés' health for the two years they had been in Russia. As well as he could at least, communication was still dangerous so they kept it sparse, Martín had only connected with him a couple of times. Sergio knew Andrés was well enough, and probably wanted the rest of the recovery to happen at home where it was better conditioned. Where it was also safe, if he knows how Sergio thinks and he does. He trusts Martín enough now, after everything, Martín knows, but he still feels the need to supervise everything. Martín can't fault him, not really, he wouldn't want to let Andrés out of his sight at times like this too.

So he told Andrés, and Andrés only smiled in response, he wanted to go home too. For a moment when he told him, there was a glint in Andrés' eyes, then recognition set in as he remembered where their home was now. But still, they packed their bags and prepared to leave.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, everyone in between and beyond, we've reached the end. Thank you so much for sticking up with me throughout this. I appreciated all your comments and feedback so much. I'm incredibly grateful for all of you. I hope you like the end and it isn't disappointing, I would love to hear what you think.
> 
> Tw: a gruesome execution (not that graphic, but still)

If anyone understood that there is no escaping one's fate, it's Andrés. It didn't however prevent the dread from filling him, the anger from coloring his veins, as Sergio explained, Tokio setting on his side.

Martin’s face darkened more and more as Sergio went on. Neither him nor Martin particularly like the child, but Martin, in the fashion of Atlas, carries the whole world on his shoulders. He feels responsible for him, as he does for everyone else in the banda, despite his general dislike of them. The moment Martin took charge with Sergio and him, he also accepted the possible guilt and burden. Andres put his hand on his, caressing it with his thumb.

Tokio snickered, taking him out of his thoughts. “So you did end up sucking his dick”, she hummed.

Andres turned his gaze from Martin to her and grinned. “And you did end up getting another boyfriend killed. No, wait. You got him a fate worse than death. Bravo”

“Andres-”, Sergio started, but Andres shut him up.

“No, no. There were very clear rules. And again, you disrespected them, acting more childish than your child boyfriend. This was bound to happen. You deserve to live with it”, Tokio’s face turned from anger to fear in an instance at his last word, turning frantically to Sergio.

"You promised that we'll get him out, professor. We can't leave him in there", her eyes were pleading. For once, Andres prays that his brother will behave as the ruthless capitan.

"We won't", his brother answered, escaping his eyes. Andres sighed. Martin tilted his head towards Sergio and narrowed his eyes.

Then, after a moment, he erupted up in a laugh. He stood up and laughed his heart out, throwing his head backwards; his laughter the only sound in the whole room as Tokio and the Inspectora stared at him as if he was a madman, their faces sour. Sergio met his eyes over them, and Andres could see the apologetic glint darkening them.

Andrés' heart dropped in his stomach.

_________

Andrés didn't have the energy to reject it anymore. He didn't have the energy to fight anything. He was tired. And deep inside, he just wanted to embrace it, but still he bit back.

"So, it's not a disaster anymore, hm, hermanito?", Andrés said bitterly, leaning on the counter.

"Andrés, say no and we won't do it", he turned to him, "It's your plan, your choice"

Andrés didn't say anything. He didn't prove himself particularly good at rejecting what he loved.

"Yeah, I thought so", he said, then sighed, "I will work on it, we will work on it"

"I know", Andrés dragged himself out of the room.

_______

Andrés leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his mug. Raquel and Sergio were chatting quietly around him. There was an ease between them. Andrés is almost offended that his brother didn't tell him about this development for two years. Not even Martín has told him that Sergio fell for her while they were inside the mint. He frowned at Martín's mug untouched in front of him. He doesn't like it when his hot drinks aren't scorching. He looks up at the entrance to the house and waits for him to come out to the terrace.

A few moments later, he does, walking to them leisurely in a light blue shirt, opened up halfway and showing most of his chest; getting slightly blown by the night wind. Andres wanted to get up and kiss it. He smiled up at him and Martín returned it, he reached out his hand when he was near enough, pulling him to the spot beside him. Martín's hand went to caress his thigh, as he pulled his own leg under him, leaning sideways on the back of the sofa, leaning his head on his other hand. Andrés reached and handed him his mug. 

He became aware of Raquel’s eyes on them and drew back a little. Raquel started, “So you were outside the entire time and no one knew”, she directed at Martín, her tone disbelieving.

Martin chuckled, “Well, not ‘no one’, someone did”, he laughed, turning to Sergio. Raquel narrowed her eyes, then raised an eyebrow. “I’ll give you a hint”, Martin grinned. “Ángel”

She squinted her eyes at him, then they got widened as she turned to Sergio. “He’s- he was the man you were sleeping with?”

Andrés’ heart skipped a beat.

_ What _

He turned to Martín who had his head backwards, laughing, then turned to Sergio whose face was red as a butcher’s meat. He shook his head violently, but Martín’s laughter drowned out anything he tried to say.

_ What _

At last, Sergio managed to speak, as Martín stopped laughing at Andrés and Raquel’s unamused faces.

“No one slept with anyone. Martín only pretended to throw off Ángel’s suspicions in another direction”

“Pretended how?”, Andrés asked, and Martin snickered, a hint of bitterness in it. “Go fuck yourself, you were planning out a beach wedding for yourself inside, I might as well have chosen Sergio for real”, he wiggled his eyebrows at Sergio. Andrés frowned. Martín has rarely mentioned Ariadna for three years, out of all the women Andrés has been with and married, she was the one Martin avoided talking about most. He reached out to touch his hand, to test the waters and as expected Martin’s mood turned sour. He didn’t turn from the touch but he ignored Andrés, turning to Sergio and Raquel, his jaws set as Raquel started speaking again.

“So this is why you burned down the entire place! We wondered, since we already had Sergio’s fingerprints. We thought it was because there were hints at the escape plan, but we found nothing. It was thoroughly destroyed”

Martin hummed, nodding, his eyes distant. Sergio cleared his throat loudly, looking down at the Dalí mask he’s fidgeting with. They all turned their gazes to him.

“I’ve already reached out to the rest of them. There will be no backing out of this”, he directed the last phrase at Raquel, who stubbornly nodded.

Martín put down his mug and reached for the Dalí mask in Sergio's hands. Sergio looked at him curiously as Martín turned it around in his hands. The new tension on his face spreading around them. Both Sergio and Andrés dread what will come out of Martín when he's like that.

"We should choose another mask for this heist. I don't like Dalí, what about Picasso?", he finally said, the feigned easiness in his tone didn't fool Andrés. He sighed. He knows where this is going.

Raquel snickered. "Why? Because he hates women?"

Martín feigned a grasp. "This might be surprising, Raquel, but my life doesn't revolve around women, quite the contrary actually"

Sergio put up his hand. "This isn't the point. We have become more than mere robbers. The red overall, the mask, they are symbols now. And symbols are powerful. We can't change it"

Martín leaned forward into Sergio, setting his jaws. His face taking a sudden serious turn. "I could care less about the painter, Sergio. But listen to me well, just because it's the Dalí mask and the red overall, just because it's the group you've chosen, doesn't mean that this is your plan"

Both Andrés and Sergio tried to say something, but Martín silenced them. 

"It's  _ my _ plan, Sergio. It's mine and it's Andrés'. I will use it to get back the kid, yes I feel as responsible for him as you do, but don't let this fool you"

Sergio's face darkened, but Andrés nudged him when he made to speak, it's better to leave Martín be when he's like that.

A while later Martín went back to their home. Andrés stayed for a short while. The situation with the inspectora was peculiar and Andrés didn't trust her. But then he excused himself and went after Martín.

He was on the front porch of their own home, with a lit cigarette in his hands, staring at the ocean, but the look in his eyes was further than its end. Andrés quietly sat next to him.

"It's strange, isn't it?", Andrés started.

"Do you still want it?", Martín asked instead. 

He decided to be honest. "I never stopped wanting it, Martín"

Martín turned to him, a hint of the sourness still on his face, "but you're not happy with it" he said

"It would be extremely insensitive to feel happy because a child is being tortured, no?", he smirked.

Martín rolled his eyes. He stared at Andrés for a long moment, then his lips spread in a minute smile. His cheeks were pinkish from the wind, and his hair ruffled. He caught the breath out of Andrés' lungs. 

Slowly, he reached for Andrés' cheek with his finger, carasseing with his thumb. Andrés leaned into the touch. 

"It's okay, Andrés", he paused, "It really is, let go, it'll be perfect, you'll see", he reassured. After a moment, Andrés nodded.

_________

It was unfortunate that the first face of theirs that he got to see was Tokio's. And well, he was not particularly excited about seeing any of them again. But he wasn't unhappy to see them either. 

Nairobi somehow disliked Martín now even more than before. He guesses that it has to do with more than his misogyny. The time she spent alone with the big Serb was effective, it seems. Not on him though, who still looked at Martín as he did three years ago. Andrés supposes he should be thankful for Helsinki's love for Martín, it saved him in a way. But the gratitude wasn't what was filling his heart every time he spotted Helsinki spending time with Martín. 

The rest of it went as he expected. The atmosphere was the same, going from joking and laughing at one point to fighting and tearing each other's faces in the second. 

But just as he expected, they all accepted it. For their own wealth and desire for glory of course, but also for the boy whom they considered family. There was apprehension at first, fear of what they're walking into. It was different from the first heist, where Sergio specifically picked each of them because they had nothing to lose.

Each was risking something more important than their own lives now.

Andrés looked up from his sketch as he spotted Martín walking towards him and Moscu, as they sat enjoying the dawn scenery over the ocean with a pleasant silence.

Martín pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed Moscu one.

Moscu smiled at Martín as he grabbed the cigarette, Martín leaned to light it and sat next to him.

They sat smoking quietly for a minute, enjoying the weather.

"Moscu", Martín started and Moscu turned to him, tilting his head.

He sighed. "You know, you don't have to be a part of this, we will understand, the professor will too", Martín was trying to approach it as gently as he could, he could see.

Moscu took a long drag, shook his head. "I keep thinking about him, what they must be doing to him right now, a mere child. And I think what if it were Denver instead of Río that was taken, if he were the one..", his face darkened, "I'd want to do anything for him then, I would have begged all of you to try and save him"

"This will be nothing like the mint heist. What you thought was a dangerous risk then will be nothing compared to what we're about to do", Martín paused, glancing up at him before he turned to Moscu again "It's not safe for you"

"What's the plan?"

Martín smiled. "A robbery"

Moscu raised his eyebrow. "It's yours, isn't it? The one you mentioned back in Toledo"

Martín's smile grew wider and nodded. 

Moscu turned back to the sea. "I trust you, Palermo. You and the professor got us out once, I believe you'll do it again"

Martín sighed. "This time I will be inside"

"You'll be the commander?"

"Berlín and I", Martín smiled up at Andrés, lighting his whole face, and Moscu mirrored him, nodding.

"Of course. Of course. But let me tell you, this time you're not ordering my son to kill anyone", he motioned between Martín and him.

Martín chuckled. "Trust me, I wouldn't want to. I don't want to see him take a second wife and bother us with any more children"

Moscu punched him lightly on the arm. "He's a great child!"

Martín raised both his hands in surrender, laughing.

His laughter was lighter, somehow unburdened. Andrés had wondered lately if he would ever get the chance to hear it this way again. He stretched out his arms to him and Martín got up and joined him. He wrapped his arms around him. Moscu smiled at them, then got up and moved inside.

_________

Out of everything, it was the monastery that he thought he would never get to see again. His heart pounded as he got out of the car. He stood to take a sharp breath before following the others, Martín on his side.

He didn't want to turn to him. He didn't want to look at his face and see their worst memory replayed on it. 

He stood out of the chapel as Sergio went inside and uncovered the furniture. The others took a look before they left to see the rest of the place. Only Andrés and Martín stood at the center of the hall that Andrés had teared his heart out as he turned away from both of them. 

Martín, like always, was the braver one. He lightly touched his arm and walked inside. Andrés followed him. 

He inhaled deeply as he took the room in. It was as beautiful as he remembered it. It was still the only place outside of Martín that felt like home, in spite of everything. And in spite of everything, it was the place he first tasted him, it was the place he first faced his love for him. He could focus only on that. They could let go of what came later now.

He walked to the table Martín was writing on that night, carving a line with his finger on the dusty surface, then took a few more steps to his painting. He had almost passed it when he noticed the small hole in it, the stuck bullet.

He snickered. "You were really angry, weren't you?", he turned to Martín who frowned. "what?"

He walked to Andrés, to see what he was talking about. He looked at it for a second then shrugged. "Oh, that wasn't meant for you", he said, "although you did deserve it", he added with a chuckle.

Andrés paused. "You were practicing your shooting skills on the chapel walls?"

Martín's face darkened. "No, I wasn't"

"Well?", Andrés didn't know why he was pressing but he couldn't let go of it.

"My hands were sweaty, I was drunk and it slipped-"

"What were you trying to do?", his tone gained a sharp edge. He couldn't help it, his rapid heartbeat, the anger shaking his body. 

The look on Martín's face was enough of an answer. Logically, it's something that happened nearly five years ago. In reality, Andrés was feeling the terror spread in his body as if it was something taking place in front of him now. He kept seeing images in his mind, of Martín lying on the floor, his face pale and eyes empty as his blood spread under him. He saw him dead and alone. Andrés pulled him into his arms, clutching as if Martín was slipping through his fingers,  _ he could have lost him, he could have lost him _ . Martín stood still as Andrés breathed into the crook of his neck, trying to calm down his body. Martín tentatively raised his hands and rested them on Andrés back.

He doesn't know how long they stood there.

___________

Andrés watched as Martín finished dressing. He might want to tear the military uniform off him soon. Or maybe let Martín stay in his and tear Andrés' own off him. He doesn't know which scenario he would like best. But it doesn't matter because neither is happening. They are not even an hour into entering. It was so surreal Andrés was barely digesting it. After everything, Martín and him were finally walking into the bank to melt their gold. He took a sharp breath.

Martín was staring at himself at the tall mirror, a clouded look on his face. 

Andrés got up and moved to him, then wrapped his arms around him from behind, kissing his neck. Martín chuckled. 

"You're not like him", he said.

Martín took a moment. "How would you know that? You didn't even know him", he said, leaning back into Andrés, while putting his own hands on Andrés' own.

"You're not like anyone. No one at all", he said. Martín turned and captured his lips, raising his hand to cup the side of Andrés' face. He melted between his fingers and mouth, a smile breaking out of him.

________

The entrance went relatively well. He entered in the other van, from the other side. Then made it up to Martín just as he was introducing himself to the hostages. He couldn't suppress his smile at Martín's theatrics. He joined him and they welcomed themselves into their kingdom.

He couldn't suppress his smile or the growing feeling that the world belongs to them, until it started going wrong.

Andrés was trying to bring Gandia's attention to him while eyeing Nairobi when Martín started speaking. He lost focus for a second, for just one second as Martín spoke. He rolled his eyes as his little speech, smiling as he held his gun at Gandia from the other side.

It was just a second before he heard the glass.

It all happened in a whirl. Him screaming Martín's name, the chaos that erupted between them, the glass in Martín's eyes,  _ he could be blind, he could get blind _ . They moved him to the library, Andrés hovering over him as he ran beside the carriage, running his hand up and down his arm. 

Next thing he knows, he's screaming at Sergio over the phone. "I told you he had to be killed, Martín told you, and now he's fucking blinded, Sergio"

The phone was pulled out of his hands, he turned to shoot whoever it was, but it turned out to be Martín, with his eyes full of glass.

________

Andrés took hold of his arm, Martín following his lead as easily as if he saw the place himself. They stood together and Andrés started. He described it all to Martín. Every single corner, every single reflection of light, he described the vault, the interconnected chamber within the room. He painted it all with his words, and felt that this might have been the only reason he was attracted to art since childhood. So that one day he'll be Martín's eyes. He turned and kissed him and Martín smiled against his lips.

_________

Andrés relaxed in the armchair, carving the elaborate ornamentations onto the cane. Everything was stable, the melting was going well, so Andrés took a long break. Even with the state of his eyes, Andrés could relax when Martín is the one in control. He doesn't feel the overwhelming pressure that ate at him during the mint, he doesn't feel alone or  _ bare _ . He has Martín with him. Martín has his back. He leaned to hoff up the wooden powder. Then took it to the vault.

No one dared to ask him what he was doing there. He took a seat near the molten gold and started. After a while, Helsinki came looking for him.

"We're going to check Palermo's eyes", he said and Andrés hummed. 

"You have his cane", Helsinki said after a moment of standing there awkwardly.

"Observant", he remarked, not-looking up. The gold was tricky to control, and even though he was still using rexoil, his hands weren't just the best anymore. 

"He'll need it", Helsinki insisted.

Andrés sighed, looking up. "He'll wait", he formed a grin, Helsinki just stared at him. "he's pretty good at that", he smirked.

After a moment, Helsinki nodded and left. Nairobi, who had shifted their attention to them when Helsinki got inside, turned to him.

"What are you doing?". An innocent question with just a hint of sharpness.

"I'm preparing Martín's sceptre", Andrés said nonchalantly, holding the cane carefully at an arm's length, then hummed in approval.

Nairobi narrowed her eyes at him, "Sceptre?", she questioned, "What fucking sceptre you insane, dillusional psychopath? It's a fucking cane because he's a useless blind"

Andrés tsked. "Nairobi, Nairobi, bitterness doesn't become you, hold it together, will you?"

"Get out of my workplace, c'mon", she hushed him with his hand as one might with a stray cat that has wandered into the front steps. Andrés chuckled.

_______

Andrés took off the bandage over his eyes. He's not naive, he knew there was an overwhelming chance Martín's eyes wouldn't work at all. But that didn't stop the dread that filled his heart when he couldn't see with his right eye. Helsinki handed him a black patch and Andrés kneeled to kiss Martín's eye then put it on. Martín chuckled in response. 

________

He held his arm as they went down the stairs together. Andrés stopped them at the top of it. They stood over everyone else, all eyes drawn to them. They were gods looking over their kingdom. 

They descended and Andrés let go of Martín's arm as he wanted to talk to Gandia. He stood a little afar and gave him his space, anger filled Andrés own body as he looked at Gandia, but Martín deserves to deal with him himself.

For a second, he had forgotten Martìn's temper. This isn't the right way to do it, he thought.

Andrés went to him as panic filled the room. He stood in front of Martín, putting his own body between him and Gandia, then held up one arm over Martín's abdomen to stop him from trying to move, and leaned down near his ear, whispering.

After a moment, Martín quieted down and nodded. He took him up, the others looking at them in disbelief.

Later, Andrés ordered Helsinki to bring Gandia to him in the governor's office that Andrés took for himself. 

Andrés smiled as Helsinki manhandled him, tying him tightly to the chair. Martín was leaning back in his armchair, arms rested against the armrest, looking absolutely magnificent, an Olympian god in his throne as he fidgeted with his cane.

As Helsinki went to go out, Andrés pulled him and whispered. Helsinki furrowed his eyebrows, a deep frown on his face, as he shifted his gaze to Martín with a questioning look. Martín nodded at him. He shook his head in lack of understanding. 

"Just do it", Andrés said sternly and Helsinki sighed.

Nearly 20 minutes later, Matias and Helsinki came holding the scorching pot, Andrés gestured for them to leave it and go. He locked the door from the inside, turning to smile at Gandia who didn't stop insulting them for a second since they got him there. 

Andrés started.

"Gandia, have you heard the story of the Spanish governor in Ecuador?", Gandia glared at him, Andrés went on as he circled him. "It's a lovely story. Beautiful. Our hero was a little greedy, and very rude. He thought he could get away with disrespecting the commoners. He thought he could take from them what they didn't want to give"

Martín chuckled, as if disbelieving such stupidity.

"But one day, when the tribe was tired of being insulted, they decided to take matters into their own hands"

"I'll kill you both", Gandia said calmly, "faggots"

Andrés laughed. "Don't you want to hear the end of the story first?", Andrés raised his eyebrows, "I'll tell it anyway. There is nothing as cruel as telling half-a-story", he smiled. "The story's real heros had a great sense of irony, as you'll come to see", he said as he stirred in the gold, rising it and letting it fall again, eyes transfixed on the thickness of it, then went away from the steam. "One day they attacked the settlement, clutched the governor from the middle of it", Andrés smiled as Martín got up and moved to the gold, "poured molten gold down his throat. He died instantly", Gandia started wriggling himself out of the ties and Martín and Andrés laughed at his efforts. 

"It's not very clear how it caused the death", Martín started, "It could be the organs collapsing under the pressure of the steam or it could be the thermal injury to the lungs. Or it could be simple, the hardening of the metal would block the airways, ending in simple suffocation", Martín smiled, putting on the necessary gloves, and the headpiece, handing Andrés the other. "See, I've always been curious, we now have the chance to see for ourselves. You should be proud for being allowed to participate in our experiment"

"C'mon, open up", Andrés ordered. He finally managed to forcefully open his mouth as Martín forced down the tube. 

The voices and Gandia's screams brought them attention from the outside. Nairobi was pounding at the door, screaming to know what they're doing.

Andrés ignored them and gestured for Martín to go forward. Martín smiled and started pouring the gold inside his throat. The steam would have blinded them if they didn't have their face covers on. Gandia still tried to wriggle himself out, screaming, until the scream died in his throat, transforming to whimpers that transformed to silence, as he stared at the ceiling, eyes comically wild; a transfixed look of horror upon them, Andrés is reminded of Ivan the Terrible's eyes.

He turned to find Nairobi and Helsinki had broken the door and gotten in. They stood motionless, face painted with horror as they stared at Andrés and Martín, and Gandia between them.

"What did you do?", Nairobi whispered, her eyes clouded. "You fucking sadists, what did you do?", she ran to Gandia, swapping his face as his eyes stared beyond her.

"Gandia wasn't an innocent hostage, Nairobi, grow up. He was a professional killer, not a secretary. If we have let him live, we would have all ended up dead"

"The professor sai-", she started and Martín cut her off.

"Where is the fucking professor now, hm? We're the ones trapped with him here. It was either going to be him or us"

"Go back to work, Nairobi. Helsinki, I need you to take the body to a closed room, any of the vaults", Andrés added.

Helsinki shook his head. 

"This is an order, Helsinki", he said sternly.

"We're not murderers", he said, looking with disappointment at Martín.

"Would you have rather it be one of us? Have you forgotten Oslo? Would have you liked to see Nairobi or Palermo like him?", he smirked, knowing Helsinki's weak points.

"He was helpless, do you think I can't just tie you down and do the same to you, you fucking psychopaths?"

"It didn't work very well for you before, did it?", Andrés smirked, then turned to Helsinki, "Take the body away, solider"

"No, you'll call the professor right now and tell him what you've done", Nairobi said and Andrés sighed.

He was about to say something, when Denver came running into the room, not noticing Gandia. "The police sent something", he said and Martín went after him. Andrés and Nairobi on his heels.

It all happened in a whirl, the teddy bear, the phone, Nairobi running upstairs and Stockholm following her. Neither him nor Martín could stop her. Helsinki stood in front of them, glaring. Andrés laughed at his defiance. It wasn't even minutes when they heard the screaming and the shattered glass. 

They ran to contact his brother as the rest went with Nairobi. Martín shuffled on his feet as Andrés called him, but his brother came with news of his own. 

"We killed Gandia", he told him. Before he went on to tell him about Nairobi, Sergio surprised him with his answer, "Good"

He raised his eyebrows even though his brother couldn't see him. "What happened, Sergio?"

"They executed Lisboa, they killed her Andrés, I heard it, she was helpless and they shot her", Andrés closed his eyes, the pain in his brother's voice seeping into his own heart, "They hurt Nairobi too, she's dying"

"This is a war, hermano. Act accordingly"

Andrés sighed and turned to Martín, who pulled him in his arms. Andrés took a deep breath as Martín caressed his back.

"Go to Nairobi, I'll take care of the operation", Martín said and Andrés nodded.

Tokio followed Martín as Andrés took her place beside Nairobi, trying to calm her. He was good at it, he quietly reassured her, trying to draw her away from her panic. 

Tokio came back while Andrés was reassuring Nairobi that they will take care of her themselves. He was nearly close to calming Nairobi and convincing her, when Tokio intervened to tell her that they'll take her out.

"She will not step out of here", Andrés said sternly. 

"If that's what she wants, then I'll walk her to the door myself", Tokio said.

"What she wants? Do you think this is the fairyland of dreams? We all made a clear choice that once we're in, we will not get out, Nairobi included. She has no choice anymore"

Tokio raised her gun to him, as Martín came in. He saw her gun at Andrés and in an instant his was pointed at Tokio's head.

It took seconds before everyone's arms was out, when Martín broke down the news. It was enough of a shock for everyone, those who wanted Nairobi to get out no longer argued, except Tokio, who declared that she was taking charge.

Andrés threw his head back, laughing. Everyone stared at him. He suddenly stopped and turned to her. "You're not taking anything, Tokio. Or do I need to remind you of the last consequence of your defiance?", he smirked.

"You lost the team's trust", she said, nonchalantly. 

"Oh did we? And you didn't? when you lost your puppy and we all had to be brought back to this deathhole because of your own irresponsibility", Andrés said and before Tokio tried to speak, surprisingly enough, it was Moscu who spoke.

"You've done enough, Tokio. We're not letting you open up more graves", he said. Tokio's little fight couldn't work, not when everyone was focused on Nairobi, and not when no one had forgotten that Andrés nearly sacrificed himself to save them.

No one defended her. Andrés nodded and went out, Martín following him.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go. Andrés called his brother again, the break in his voice broke Andrés' own heart. His brother has already lost so much, he couldn't imagine if this had been Martín. 

He turned to find Tokio standing, "I want to talk to him", she stretched her hand. Andrés gave her the phone and left to find Martín.

He found him in the library, lying on the sofa and staring at the ceiling. When Andrés went in, he opened his arms and Andrés fell into them.

"We won't let anything happen to him, Andrés. Don't be afraid", Martín said. Andrés knows they have no way to make sure that doesn't happen, but he still kissed Martín's chest and sighed. Martín rubbed his arms until he fell asleep.

_______

Discovering Lisboa to be alive brought more relief than Andrés thought it would. It's not just for his brother but he grew to care for her over the last few months, they were family after all, and family is sacred.

It was one piece of good news among total chaos. Martín and him swiped between taking care of the melting and the rest of the plan until Nairobi recovers.

Which she won't. The realization dawned on Andrés as he discovered Arturo and some other hostages had her. He was too much of a coward to shoot, Andrés knows, but the damages he's doing to her body as he's manhandling her, in fear and in need to protect himself from them, were irrevocable. No one dared make a move, lest they shoot her by mistake, but the stitches were already getting undone, he saw the spots of blood darken the overall. 

The banda trapped him in a circle, he couldn't escape them, but the gun in his hand could do so much damage. Andrés found himself moving closer and closer to Martín on his side, until he got to cover his body, lest Arturo decided to shoot. The movement scared him and he brought his gun tighter around Nairobi, who looked as if she was going to pass out. His own movement alerted Tokio who shot at his leg. He fell to the floor, the gun still in his hand, the hostages scattered, trying to run, as Arturo shot Nairobi's leg from where he was screaming on the floor. 

Deep down, Andrés knew there was no saving her now, but it didn't stop his own or Martín's tears when she finally passed four days later.

Andrés was downstairs with the workers, he might as well have been alone. None of them uttered a word, even breathing they did quietly, as if they were dead men walking. Andrés had decided to enjoy the uneasy silence and take his mind off everything. He started sketching with light charcoal first to outline it. Then brought out the tools he brought with him and brought some of the molten gold that hasn't yet been turned into nuggets.

It took him four days to finish it. The same four days it took all life to finally leave Nairobi.

The air around them transformed. They had expected it, they were nearly waiting for it, but it didn't make it any easier. 

Andrés turned his face away and held Martín in his arms. Tokio and Helsinki weeping as they kneeled by the bed.

__________

Andrés was finalizing the painting when Martín came into the room. He smiled up at him and he walked to Andrés, wrapping his arms around him from where he stood behind his chair.

He hummed, approvingly. "I look like one of those pharaohs"

"You've always looked like a god", Andrés answered, throwing his head backwards to look up at him. Martín chuckled and leaned down to kiss him.

It went like this. Amidst the chaos that was erupting in the entire place, amidst the panic and the pain, Andrés and Martín were calm. They were together, fulfilling their destiny. The others wanted to get out alive and safe and they wanted the gold, but they could never understand what it all means to them.

They were thriving gods. The most powerful men on earth. No one held in their hands so much power, so much beauty, so much glory. Only him and Martín. No one held such a great love either. In those moments they had more than the whole world combined.

This is why, not even two hours after they had managed to take Raquel in, and Raquel told them of Sergio's situation, Andrés felt no panic, a wave of calm spreading through his body as Martín locked eyes with him and Andrés understood what they must do. Tentatively, Martín raised his lips in a wonderful smile. 

Panic spread all around them, fear and anxiety ate at their hearts and minds, but Andrés and Martín weren't touched by it. They were as in control as ever, maybe even more now. 

They had to come up with an escape plan on their own, him and Martín with Raquel's help, but its basis had already existed in their heads for a long time now.

When it was getting near to the end, Martín sent Denver to him when he was dealing with the hostages. He went into the room Martín was waiting for him in, he handed him a bag. Andrés glanced inside and frowned, raising his eyebrow at Martín.

"You brought this with you?", he asked.

Martín nodded. "Put it on, I'll wait for you"

Martín left the room and Andrés put the suit on. An elegant, classical three pieces, black suit. 

The door opened from the outside, Andrés looked up from adjusting his cufflinks to see Martín walking inside, in a full black suit as well. He's carrying half a smile on his face; smug, undoubtedly aware of how magnificent he looks in it. If the aftermath 

of the glass was supposed to ruin the look, it did anything but. Andrés breath caught in his throat.

"How do I look?", Martín smirked.

Andrés smiled, taking his time looking at all of him.

"Powerful", he breathed. "Beautiful"

Martín let out a sweet little laugh. Andrés wanted to swallow it. 

He approached him, holding out his arms slightly. Martín met him half-way.

"However-", Andrés started and Martín hummed in response "I can't help but think it should have been white"

Martín held out his hand to cup his face. "In another life", he said softly.

"I should ask you to leave", he said, letting his voice carry it all.

"But you won't", Martín said. There was no cruelty or blame in his voice.

"I did the selfless thing once", Andrés took a sharp breath and Martín grasped his face between his hands, his eyes confident and calm.

"It's okay, Andrés. I know you want it. I do too. I always have. Always. Accept it", he said, caraseing Andrés face.

"I do", he said. Not because Martín needed to hear it, but because he needed to admit it, to accept it. It was the worst part of him, the most selfish, and he had tried to fight it, god, he had tried so hard, but he wants him. He does. Admitting it; accepting it sets him free. He felt as if he had been tying a limp and preventing the blood to flow to or from it, but now he undid the knot, and the life of that blood flew in its natural cycle again, he felt whole.

Martín's face split in a wonderful smile. The bank was erupting around them, in panic and paranoia, from all sides, but Andrés and Martín could very well be on the beach under the moonlight right now.

"Kiss me", Andrés breathed and Martín obliged.

_________

Andrés and Martín stood in front of the mountain of gold before they started packing it. Andrés had ordered everyone out of the room. He held Martín's hand as they both took it in. It was nearly overwhelming, the realization, the reality of it in front of their eyes.

Andrés turned slightly to Martín. The light above the gold illuminated it, sending its reflection to Martín's eyes. In the blue of his eyes were hues of gold, making them look on fire.

As if reading his mind, Martín turned to him and kissed him, it wasn't more than a brush, but Andrés melted under it.

________

Denver eyed Andrés and Martín suspiciously as he made to run after the others. Helsinki followed but stopped at Andrés and Martín, he tilted his head at Martín, fear clouding his eyes.

"Go, leave. We will come after you", Martín said hurringly, but Helsinki didn't move. "We will. This is a promise, okay?", Martín added. Helsinki nodded and ran. After all, Martín didn't break his promise before.

Only Raquel was left. The only one they couldn't fool.

"Hermana, you have to leave. Take them, lead the escape", Andrés ordered, but Raquel just shook her head stubbornly.

"I won't. You will _ not _ play the fucking heros. You'll walk out with me. We're leaving together", tears were already welling in her eyes.

"Then we will all die here. Is that what you want?", Andrés tried. Raquel's eyes were darting between him and Martín; not daring to say the words aloud, Andrés suspected not even daring to think them,  _ trying to choose only one of them to stay _ . 

She will not utter it.

She was full on crying now, not even bothering to contain it. "I can't...I can't face him without you. He will never forgive me"

Andrés knew too well that he will. This fate has chased all three of them for so many years now, and one day Raquel will understand that there was nothing for her to ever do, no step could have been taken differently, no mistake could have been avoided. The tale was already woven. But before he tried to reassure her, Martín drew both of her hands, holding them with his own. She was still crying, but was transfixed by Martín's calmness; her breathing getting more even as she stared at him "This is the only way to save him, Raquel", Martín said quietly, almost gently.

She shook her head furiously. 

"Yes. Yes, it is. You know it is", he insisted.

She let her head hang down, and Andrés was transfixed on the streaming tears following rhythmically to the floor, as she looked down. "You're family", she breathed.

Martín pulled her closer, and held one hand tenderly to wipe her tears. "You can choose him", he half-whispered, so softly, caressing her face with his thumb, then met Andrés' eyes. "It's okay, It's okay to want to choose him. You're allowed to"

The sounds coming to them from the doors and vents startled her, she darted her eyes between them, her feet fixed between running and staying. Martín nodded at her. And Andrés shouted. 

"Go. Leave! NOW!", she stared at him, stood for seconds that seemed like eternity to him, then turned her back to them and started running. When she was nearly out of sight, she stood still, her back still to them, and Andrés held his breath, he prayed, prayed that she wouldn't look back.

And she didn't. She carried on running and didn't look back even once. She's a woman who knows her stories all too well.

Andrés reached out with one hand to cup his face. Breathless out of the sudden. "Could you forgive me?",  _ for everything. _

Martín chuckled, putting his hand on top of Andrés' "Could you?". In his voice there was everything he needed to hear. Martín leaned to the side and kissed his palm. 

He doesn't know where he's going, what it is that will meet them. But if it's nothingness, if it's simply a void, he hopes that all his existence and being will boil down to  _ this feeling _ .

Andrés took Martín's other hand in his, looking ahead, giving the rest time. A moment later, he heard something; an illusion, he thought, of a ringing. But the sound got stronger, and stronger still, coming from various places at once, all around them; the tolling of bells. He turned to Martín on his side and there was the glint that gave it away. Once he met his eyes, he understood what he had done. He laughed. Martín tightened his grasp on his hand, and smiled at him, his eyes shone with the smile and glimmering tears. 

Andrés reached out and kissed him, and just like the first time, it stole the breath out of his lungs. 

"Where are your poetics, Andrés? You're not going to tell me that wherever we're going, you're going to find me again?, Martín pulled away, leaning his forehead against Andrés' and laughing; a shaky, bright thing.

Andrés mirrored his laughter, pulling him closer, if that's possible. "There isn't a god who would dare clutch you out of my arms in the first place"

Martín caressed his cheek, pulling his face closer. 

"I love you more than life", Andrés breathed. For the both of them. 

It's not a goodbye. 

The recognition fills Andrés with more peace; relief than he has felt in his entire life.

He brought his face closer, until they shared the breath between them. 

Martín brought his other hand up, his thumb on the button.

For their family outside, running for their lives with 90 tons of gold, Andrés and Martín won't rise from the dust and ashes; they won't rise bright, burning and luminous. They won't rise at all.

But in the years to come , a golden painting will ornate the walls of the louvre. One that holds in it the last pure gold left from the National Reserve of Spain. Despite all attempts to remove it, The Golden Argentine always finds its way back, an attempt, perhaps, of a mourning brother to immortalize the best of those he loved and lost. The painting isn't accompanied by any labels, the only mark that hints to its creator is the careful cursive on the lower side, in ink as black as its artist's eyes; simply saying  _ Beloved of Andrés _ . But labels aren't needed, for everyone knows the infamous face; as familiar to people as the face in his painting, so much that it's said one can't look at it without recalling that of the other. As if they have simply melted together.

Far away from glorious Paris, in the land of the Americans, bright students of the Rebellion carry on the tradition after their sacrificed god, where it's said that not a single city lacks its own golden mural of the Argentine Dalí.

In an island even further away, a golden-ornated cane will pass down generations of a beautiful Serbian family. The story behind it gets lost to time, but never the sad, wet smile that came to be with eyes glancing at it. 

But if you peer into the brilliant mind of Andrés de Fonollosa in his last moments, you won't find concerns of this future, not of his Golden Painting nor of the metaphorical and literal blazing flames he's going in.

The only concern of any future you'll find is that  _ when they find them, their blood would be mixing as one; inseparable. Their bodies would be so entangled with the other there would be no telling them apart. They would be forever entwined, as they should be. _

The only thought you'll find is this  _ He stole the only thing worth stealing. He stole the only thing he can't go without _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you think. This is pretty much my furst attempt ever at anythinh that has to do with fan creation! I was just going to write a tumblr post about my personal headcanon for Martín's childhood, and thought that this form seems better.
> 
> Fortuantely, the homosexual elements in this story can't nearly expel me from anywhere!


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